


defenders of the faith

by kyleworthington (lairdofthelochs)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Slow Burn, have i overdone it this time?, i've fallen into the overdone mafia au trope, priests soldiers spies mobsters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 06:08:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10353849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lairdofthelochs/pseuds/kyleworthington
Summary: Kyungsoo is a Catholic priest. Chanyeol is the longtime friend Kyungsoo hasn't seen in years. At least one of them is lying about who they really are, and this isn't your fluffy cutesy reunion story.





	1. Chapter 1

He runs and runs.

The skies are bright and blue and the sun is in his eyes. Kyungsoo could feel the soft clink of his dogtags trapped between his chest and his shirt as he jogs around the perimeter of his apartment block. He refuses to think that he’s hiding, not when he’s out in the open like this, in this neighbourhood where everyone knows him.

No, Kyungsoo thinks. He’s hiding from himself.

His neck aches from the straps of heavy rucksack on his shoulder, the weight he’s carrying on his back. It’s his routine – every morning he would stuff bricks in his tattered rucksack and run for at least an hour, because it’s what he’s trained himself to do in the Marines. He doesn’t mind being drenched in sweat or the sweet suffering of muscle aches that will come later – it’s only one of the many reminders of his past, the one that he has actively tried to leave. He doesn’t admit that he misses it, but his new life is equally challenging – if not completely different.

One of the old ladies waves at him – she doesn’t bat an eye at his dishevelled state – he briefly wonders what Mrs Lee is doing this early in the morning, when he realizes that she’s probably on her way to her Tai Chi class on the other side of the park. A few strides further and he bumps into Henry who winks at him and shouts, “Lookin’ good, Padre!” and grins. Kyungsoo doesn’t stop running, but he acknowledges him with a tiny nod and an amused smile.

“See you at Mass this Sunday!” a loud female voice bellows, and Kyungsoo breaks into a hearty chuckle despite himself. It was Amber, one of Henry’s mates from his basketball team. Kyungsoo waves enthusiastically in return, exclaiming, “It’s a date, then!”

“It’s a date with God!” Henry adds theatrically, before dragging Amber away in a maniacal laughter.

 _Bless their hearts,_ Kyungsoo thinks. 

Other folk watches this encounter with little interest, thinking that it’s another Thursday morning shenanigans in Myeongdong. Kyungsoo is acutely aware, however, that while they may have little care for his exchange with Amber and Henry, they never fail to take a second glance at his prosthetic leg. It’s his second year using the C-leg – for a higher cost it’s certainly more stable than his old prosthesis, and he prefers the bounce and swing of this new leg when he runs. Never mind that he has invested nearly his entire savings for a metal leg. It’s worth it.

He reaches the front door of his apartment and jogs up the stairs, not forgetting to throw a smile at Mrs Hwang who is watering her plants at the stoop. “Good morning, Father,” she smiles back. She has always told him that if he hadn’t been a Catholic priest, she would have gladly let him marry her daughter.

Kyungsoo unlocks his apartment door and near-throws his rucksack on the floor with a loud thump, groaning as he freed himself of the weight on his shoulders. It’s not much, but it’s still home. It’s certainly cosier than the unforgiving deserts of Fallujah. He’s got a roof over his head and a comfortable bed to sleep on. Actual hot chow instead of MREs. These are the circular thoughts that run in his mind each time he comes home. That he’s glad to be _here_ instead of _out there._

Life is funny like that sometimes.

\--

After shower he gets rid of his tattered green Marines t-shirt and dumps it in the washer, before limping on his crutch to the living room. Kyungsoo bends forward to fit his C-leg onto the special socks he’d had made for his stump. Satisfied that the slot has clicked into place, he leans back on his couch and turns on the TV. The news is telling him about last night’s murder of a mob boss, extravagantly named Yellow Dragon, who had only been released from prison the day before. 

 _Freedom,_ Kyungsoo thinks. Is the Dragon finally free, then? To have been freed from prison after twenty-five years, only to get shot to death a day after?

The phone rings.

Detective Kim Junmyeon is on TV now, his stern face unperturbed by microphones and blinding camera flashes. Kyungsoo picks up the phone after the second ring. Young Mee is on the end of the line, asking if Kyungsoo would still be available for Sunday dinner because his sister, Yura is visiting from Busan. “Yes, _mom,_ I’ll make it,” Kyungsoo replies. He turns the volume down on the TV just as Detective Junmyeon starts a lengthy spiel about the rise of a new mob boss dubbed ‘Saint Jude’ by the cops, who has allegedly orchestrated the Yellow Dragon murder.

“Are you’re watching this?” Kyungsoo asks in abject horror. “Why would anyone name a mob boss after a patron saint?” he scrunches his nose, before breaking into a resigned laughter. “That’s a first. Usually they’d name them after Stars and Dragons and such like. Oh, what has the world come to?”

Young Mee laughs too, but it is a muted echo of Kyungsoo’s mirth. From her voice, he could tell that she is not taking the news as light-heartedly as he has. There is something else playing on her mind, and no, it isn’t just the upcoming family dinner and the recent worries regarding Yura’s marriage breakup. “Mom, you okay?”

“Yes,” Young Mee lies.

“Is it about the restaurant? They’re still tearing it down?”

“Forty years, Kyungsoo,” Young Mee says. “And just like that, they’re telling me to move out in the next three weeks. They’ll pay for compensation, but is it worth it?”

 _‘Is it worth it?’_ seems to be the question of the day. It even merits becoming the question of Kyungsoo’s life. The flickering images on TV are now showing images of Trump and the latest spews of his idiotic policies. Kyungsoo grits his teeth and reaches for the remote to switch off the TV.

“What happens if you don’t move out?” Kyungsoo asks. Exhaustion and dread suddenly engulfs his entire body. Glancing up at the clock, he realizes that he’s already late for his morning meeting with Father Luhan. He doesn’t hang up on Young Mee. He couldn’t, not when she’s clearly in distress.

“They’ll still tear it down,” Young Mee replies. Kyungsoo could hear the dejection in Young Mee’s voice. He’s known Viva Polo even before she adopted him into her family— it was his sanctuary when he was a child. Young Mee and her husband have been his salvation from the dank Itaewon orphanage where he grew up. It was where he and Chanyeol would sit down to have lunch and do homework after school, before returning to the confined spaces of their bedrooms. Sister Mary would often frown at them for coming late from school, but then they’d show her that they’d done their homework – and they would be spared from being flogged or locked in a cupboard.

Kyungsoo wonders if Chanyeol is doing okay, wherever he is. The last time Chanyeol had sent Kyungsoo a postcard to Young Mee’s address, he was in Astana, and that was a good few years ago. There was no return address. It was kind enough of Chanyeol to still remember him, though. _Dear Dyodoro,_ Chanyeol had written, in a near-illegible scrawl. He was the only one to still ever address Kyungsoo by that awful nickname. He thinks that Chanyeol would be similarly appalled at this news, though. Young Mee was as much a mother to Chanyeol as she is to Kyungsoo, even if she only manages to officially adopt one of them.

What would have happened if Young Mee had adopted Chanyeol instead of him, Kyungsoo ponders. He looks down at his leg and lets out a heavy sigh. The church bells are ringing, signalling that Kyungsoo should really hang up and go to work now. “Young Mee, I’ll see you on Sunday, okay? Love you.”

Adjusting the plastic dog collar on his throat, Father Do Kyungsoo dashes out of his apartment and hops onto his trusty bicycle.

 _It’s just another day at the parish,_ he thinks, whistling cavalierly as he rides off to work.

\--

Kyungsoo arrives at the front door of his parish only to find out that his meeting with Father Luhan has been cancelled. Surprisingly, it wasn’t because Kyungsoo failed to turn up on time. He lurks outside Luhan’s office and could hear the older priest’s agitated voice down the phone, speaking to someone about money and charity and the God’s good will. Kyungsoo narrows his eyes. Luhan has always been a calm, unruffled figure – he rarely raises his voice, even in anger.

Something feels off.

Kyungsoo couldn’t see Luhan behind the door, but from the tone of Luhan’s voice, he sounds scared; threatened, like a wounded animal. When the phone slams and the door suddenly jerks open, Kyungsoo awkwardly manages a wide-eyed, thin-lipped smile. Father Luhan is the older of the two – calm, mild-mannered and everything that Kyungsoo is not. He’s been at this parish for the last ten years, as compared to Kyungsoo’s two. They make a stark contrast – Luhan the charming, affable priest with a disarming smile, and Kyungsoo the taciturn ex-Marine with a stoic disposition. Luhan often asked him why he’d decided to join the seminary after Sungkyunkwan and the Marines. Kyungsoo really didn’t have an answer for that except a practiced, straight-faced mumble about his blown-off leg in Iraq, God’s grace and the miracle that he’s still alive.

“Walk with me,” Luhan says, as he ushers Kyungsoo down the corridor.

“What’s wrong?”

“Did you see the news this morning?” Luhan half-whispers.

“Which one?”

“Yellow Dragon, St Jude, the mob.”

Kyungsoo blinks. “Yes, what about them?”

“Times are a-changin’ around here, Kyungsoo,” Luhan halts, putting a gentle hand over Kyungsoo’s arm. “It ain’t gonna be the same anymore. Not with the new kids runnin around Seoul. They’ve taken over Busan from the Five Suns, and we’re now smack right in the heart of the Dragon’s ol’ territory, which I know St Jude will want to reclaim.”

“What are you saying?” Kyungsoo raises a quizzical brow. “How are _we_ connected to the Kkangpae?”

“All I’m sayin, Kyungsoo, is you gotta be careful. You got heart, you got brains,” Luhan tells him, voice dropping an octave lower than usual. “You’ve seen many things, the war abroad. But you ain’t seen anything like this,” Luhan warns gravely.

“Have faith, Kyungsoo,” Luhan says, but the words sound hollow, as if he doesn’t believe them himself. And just like that, he leaves Kyungsoo to his confessional box, where a line is already forming at the side of the church. Kyungsoo quietly groans, watching Luhan’s dark, cassock-clad figure disappear down the centre aisle of the church, heading for the large, looming doors of the parish. He turns to face the altar, where the crucifix stares at him mutely, as if urging him to persevere without further questions.

_Have faith._

_Semper fidelis,_ Kyungsoo thinks. How apt.

Kyungsoo doesn’t see Father Luhan for the rest of the day.

\--

He leaves the church on his bike at 1800, before stopping at a convenience two blocks away for a can of soda. He flashes a smile at the gangly kid behind the counter – Sehun, who relentlessly keeps trying to sell him beer every time Kyungsoo stops by.

“Come on, Father. How come you never drink beer?” Sehun inquires cheekily. “Surely you’re not like some rich snob who only drinks wine and champagne.”

“I have my reasons,” Kyungsoo replies, trying not to think of Young Mee’s husband and his death from liver failure. That’s enough to make Kyungsoo a teetotaller, but he wouldn’t condemn Sehun to that sob story. “Oh Sehun—,” a female voice suddenly shrieks from one of the aisles of the store, “Quit asking Father Kyungsoo questions like that. You should know better!”

“Sorry Mrs Byun,” Sehun replies sheepishly at the owner of the store, before handing Kyungsoo the change.

“Gotta listen to the boss, eh?” Kyungsoo winks conspiratorially. “Don’t forget to do your homework,” he tells Sehun, before turning to leave the queue. His stride are cut short by a tall, copper-haired man who stops him at the door, staring at him as if he is some kind of deity, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“ _Father_ Kyungsoo?”

“Yes?”

“Do Kyungsoo?” the man exclaims, a shark-like grin now etched on his lips, all white teeth and bright eyes, despite the all-black clothing he is currently adorned in.

“ _Yes_ ,” Kyungsoo nods, perplexed by the man’s overfamiliarity. “Do I know you?” Kyungsoo asks cautiously.

“Dyodoro?” the man replies, clearly amused by a joke that Kyungsoo hasn’t seemed to get. There’s something friendly and harmless in the unreserved joy on the man’s countenance. “It’s me—,” he says. “It’s Yoda.”

“Yoda?” Kyungsoo queries, at first softly, in confusion. Then, it hits him. “ _Chanyeol_?” his voice inadvertently rising an entire octave. “As in Park Chanyeol?”  The man nods, trying to repress the urge to laugh. Kyungsoo could not believe his eyes. Holding both of Chanyeol’s shoulders in a firm grip, Kyungsoo exclaims ecstatically, “You look different! I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you!” before pulling Chanyeol into a bear hug.

“Eh, lost weight, y’know,” Chanyeol waves him off glibly and pats his back, as if it was no big deal. “You still look good, though,” Chanyeol says as he pulls away, eyes glinting in the fluorescent light as he grins devilishly.

“Well, yes,” Kyungsoo harrumphs, before looking down at his shabby corduroy jacket and shrugs. “Wrinkles everywhere, what else is new. You, on the other hand—,” he pauses and takes another look at Chanyeol—, “you look— great!”

_Chanyeol looks amazing._

“I like the whole choir boy thing you got going on,” Chanyeol says, pretending to study Kyungsoo intently. He mindlessly rubs his clean-shaven jaw, all sharp and angular, and unlike how Kyungsoo remembers Chanyeol at all. Chanyeol doesn’t want to talk about himself— this much he is aware, judging from Chanyeol’s tendency to revert the attention back to Kyungsoo. “And you’re – _wait,_ is that real now?” Chanyeol asks incredulously— his eyes permanently fixated on Kyungsoo’s dog collar. “Is that fucking real? I can’t believe my eyes. You’re a fucking priest?”

Kyungsoo ultimately has to resort to grabbing Chanyeol and shoves a hand over his mouth, just in case Mrs Byun overhears him. “Yes, I’m an _effing_ priest, thank you very much. Haven’t you heard?”

“Fuck man, and I thought my life had been a fuckin’ rollercoaster.”

Kyungsoo couldn’t help but let out a hearty chuckle despite the inappropriateness. Chanyeol may have looked different, but he still has that potty mouth on him.

 _It’s Chanyeol alright,_ Kyungsoo thinks fondly.

 

* * *

 

Six slices of pizza and three cans of Coke later, Chanyeol is sprawled on Kyungsoo’s sofa, burping as he shakes his head, contemplating Kyungsoo’s career choice. “How did you end up being a priest from a Marine? My head can’t quite compute that.”

“I saw my friends die in front of me. When my Humvee was blown, and this happened—,” Kyungsoo points to his left prosthetic leg, “Young Mee thought my recovery was some sort of miracle. And I couldn’t contemplate going back and doing a desk job.”

“So you’d rather join the clergy? Being the soldier of God? Some born-again Christian?”

“You make it sound like it’s a bad thing,” Kyungsoo reasons. “Look, Young Mee’s religious, and I don’t want her to worry about me. I’m giving back to the community with every way that I can.”

“I’m not making fun of you. I guess I’m just a bit cynical.”

“Can’t be cynical if you’re working with kids, can you?” Kyungsoo comments flippantly, making a dig at Chanyeol’s job as a teacher. He raises the can of soda to his lips as he awaits Chanyeol’s reaction.

“It’s a special needs school. Kids with ASD, learning difficulties, mutism,” Chanyeol explains. “Maybe I can’t really judge you. I didn’t expect my life to take this turn either. Maybe I’m giving back to the community with every way that I can, too.”

“What do you mean by that?” Kyungsoo asks.

“I feel like I’ve been wasting my time, you know?” Chanyeol tells him. “I feel that it’s actually time for me to do something tangible. Make a difference.”

There’s a deeper meaning to that, but Kyungsoo isn’t turning this reunion into some sort of terrorist suspect interrogation situation. Instead, he questions Chanyeol about where he has been since he left Seoul, but Chanyeol continues to be evasive. “Hong Kong, high school, college, then I just— travelled around the world,” he tells Kyungsoo, but doesn’t elaborate.

 _He’s hiding something,_ Kyungsoo thinks. _But I’m not going to push him._

“Why didn’t you come find us? Find Young Mee?” Kyungsoo asks instead. “You’ve been here six months and you haven’t even paid a visit to the diner. She’s going to be so ecstatic when she finds out that you’re back in town.”

“I’ve got so much going on, man,” Chanyeol says as he scratches the back of his head, genuinely apologetic. “I just—,” he rubs his eyes tiredly, “—have so many things to deal with.”

“Really?” Kyungsoo asks pointedly. “After that random postcard from Kazakhstan?”

“I’m sorry.”

Kyungsoo draws a sharp breath. There’s no point being coy. He has to ask.

“Are you in trouble, Chanyeol?”

“No,” Chanyeol replies, sharply and firmly. Kyungsoo could take a hint.

“Listen,” Kyungsoo caves in, “Come to dinner. Sunday,” he implores. “Young Mee will be pleased. Yura will be there too. It’ll cheer them up, especially with the stuff that has been going on.”

Chanyeol’s stance softens. “What _has_ been going on?” he inquires quizzically.

“You’ll hear from them,” Kyungsoo shrugs. “It’s not my prerogative to tell. What were you doing in Kazakhstan anyway?” he asks instead, referencing Chanyeol’s postcard from Astana, forever ago.

Chanyeol pauses, cogs moving, thinking. Blinks twice before putting his soda can on the table. “Vacation. It’s fucking cool, man. The architectural feats are to die for,” he says. “But nothing will ever beat _home._ ”

“Home, as in here?”

Chanyeol initially nods, but shrugs hesitantly afterwards. He lifts his gaze to stare at Kyungsoo for longer than what feels necessary. Kyungsoo doesn’t even realize that he has been holding his breath. Chanyeol is too close, too far, consuming Kyungsoo’s entire atmosphere.

“ _Here_ ,” Chanyeol affirms, still holding Kyungsoo’s gaze with his piercing eyes.

When Kyungsoo finally breathes, it feels like a lease of new life.

\--

Mass still brings about plenty of parishioners despite the heavy rain that hasn’t subsided since Saturday evening. After communion and the endless chanting of “The Body of Christ”, Kyungsoo is all too ready for warm grub and decent company.

Kyungsoo has agreed to meet Chanyeol outside Young Mee’s new apartment in Gangdong-gu, umbrella in hand. “I brought takoyaki,” Chanyeol says, as he steps out of the yellow cab. He immediately ducks underneath Kyungsoo’s umbrella for shelter, meeting him eye-to-eye. Kyungsoo has to take a step back in surprise – by both Chanyeol’s sudden movement and the enthusiasm he’s showing, as Chanyeol holds out a food container in one hand. In Chanyeol’s other hand is a bouquet of tulips, which he nearly shoves into Kyungsoo’s face. Its petals fall to the wet ground, wilting with each drop of rain.

“Chanyeol, are you sure you’ve not mistaken this for a date?”

“Nah, maybe I am trying to woo you.”

Kyungsoo is stunned. Chanyeol stares up at him confusedly, before breaking into a huge laughter and punches Kyungsoo in the shoulder. “Come on, Mr God Squad. Are you going to keep standing here in the rain or what?”

 

* * *

 

The tears in Young Mee’s eyes well up faster than Kyungsoo could say, “Here’s Chanyeol,” after she opens the door to welcome them. Yura shoots Kyungsoo a look of disbelief and amusement as Young Mee pulls Chanyeol into a hug, showering him with kisses all over his face.

“You’re so skinny,” Young Mee exclaims. “Have they not fed you well?” she asks, as she tries to rub off the lipstick smear on Chanyeol’s cheek.

“No, I needed to get in shape anyway,” Chanyeol replies. “Be more like Dyodoro here,” he points to Kyungsoo. He then approaches Yura to give her a hug, causing her to melt into his arms. Yura and Kyungsoo briefly share a knowing gaze as she returns the sisterly embrace— Yura is clearly still amazed at how different—and yet how unchanged Chanyeol still is, after all these years. “You seriously have competition in the Most Eligible Bachelor category, Kyungsoo,” Yura says. Kyungsoo has to bite the insides of his cheek to stop smiling, as Yura refuses to let Chanyeol go.

“Nuh-uh, I’m off the market. Married to God, remember?” Kyungsoo replies in jest. “Also, if you don’t let go of Chanyeol now he might file a suit for sexual harassment.”

Yura eventually pulls away from Chanyeol, albeit reluctantly. “Watch it, young man,” she says, and gives Kyungsoo a playful slap.

“Shall we set the dinner table?” Young Mee asks as she arranges Chanyeol’s tulips in a vase. Yura, Chanyeol and Kyungsoo offer to give her a hand, but she insists that Kyungsoo stays in the living room to entertain Chanyeol while dinner is being served.

“Young Mee hasn’t aged a day,” Chanyeol sidles up to Kyungsoo, his deep drawl sending unexpected shivers down Kyungsoo’s spine. “And Yura is as beautiful as ever.”

“Yeah, well,” Kyungsoo sighs. “Unfortunately her husband is too blind to see that. “

\--

Over the course of dinner, Chanyeol learns more about Young Mee’s difficulties. The proposed redevelopment plan and gentrification process in the area would mean tearing down Viva Polo and the buildings surrounding it. “But spending time at the diner after school – with Kyungsoo – that’s the best part of my childhood!” Chanyeol exclaims, the frown lines on his forehead deepening in fury.

“People are holding protests but they’re going ahead with it anyway,” Yura says. “It’s a lost cause.”

 “I’ve got until the end of the month to sign the agreement,” Young Mee says morosely, shaking her head.

“Don’t do it,” Chanyeol snaps, his rage quietly bubbling away under the deceptively calm surface. 

Young Mee reaches over to hold Chanyeol’s hand. “That’s very kind of you, but I don’t think there’s anything we can do.”

Kyungsoo studies this interaction intently— every curl of Chanyeol’s lips, every twitch of his eyelids. This is what he’s been trained to do— to observe everything and admire _nothing._ He witnesses how the raw tempest in Chanyeol’s eyes seems to fade with every brush of Young Mee’s thumb, against the back of his hand. A maternal touch, something that Chanyeol probably hasn’t experienced in a long time. There’s something equally vulnerable and dangerous about Chanyeol— seeing him like this, within the safe illusion of being with family. Of being welcomed, of being loved.

Their time at St Patrick’s Home for Boys hasn’t been the most pleasant, but Young Mee and Yura changed all that for Kyungsoo. Survivor’s guilt still haunts him, even until now. Not just about leaving Joong Ki behind in Iraq, but also about leaving Chanyeol in that harsh, loveless institution. Joong Ki’s gone now. And Chanyeol did leave the orphanage eventually, to move to Hong Kong with the Li family. Chanyeol’s back in Seoul now, safe and sound.

That’s all that matters, right?

“Hey, Kyungsoo. Where did you go?” Yura asks, her voice snapping him out of his reverie.

“Sorry,” Kyungsoo says, “What?”

“We were just talking about your husband,” Young Mee explains.

“Soon to be ex-husband,” Yura corrects Young Mee. Chanyeol is equally unimpressed with the sordid details of the affair— about how he has been keeping a mistress behind her back. His nose scrunches up as he spares a quick glance at Kyungsoo, expressing his repugnance at how Yura has been treated. “We’ve been separated for three months now. I’m just finalizing a few things in Busan, and then I’m coming back here for good,” she says.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Chanyeol proffers. “I didn’t even get to go to your wedding, and now the marriage has ended,” he contemplates ruefully.

“Well, at least we don’t have any kids to fight over. It’d be more painful if we did,” Yura surmises.

A grim silence hangs over the table, before Young Mee stands up and claps her hands together. “Right, I’m going to get dessert, including Chanyeol’s lovely takoyaki for snacking. Did you make it yourself?”

The tension in the room quickly dissipates with the sound of Young Mee’s soothing voice. 

“No, Ma’am,” Chanyeol blushes. “Bought it on the way here, considering it’s Kyungsoo’s favourite.”

Kyungsoo glances sharply at Chanyeol. He doesn’t look back.

“Tell us more about you, then, Park Chanyeol,” Yura leans back in her chair, giving him a shrewd look. “A young handsome thing like you, surely you must have someone?”

Kyungsoo watches this exchange with interest. He doesn’t miss the flush creeping up Chanyeol’s neck, how his ears turn pink at Yura’s unabashed query. “Uh, that is—,” Chanyeol stammers, before making the mistake of catching Kyungsoo’s burning gaze on him. Chanyeol looks away sheepishly again. “I’m married to my job,” he says, earning a deep chuckle from Kyungsoo. “Oh please, only I’m allowed to say that,” Kyungsoo snickers.

Chanyeol kicks his foot under the table in retaliation. It only makes Kyungsoo laugh harder.

“No, I love my job,” Chanyeol explains, after finally managing to catch his breath. “It’s gratifying.”

“It’s admirable,” Young Mee comments, as she returns from the kitchen. “Working with special needs kids.”

“Not as admirable as my friend here,” Chanyeol retorts wittily, his head indicating towards Kyungsoo.

“Stop,” Kyungsoo warns in faux fury. “You’re just picking on me now,” he says, with a wide smile plastered on his face. He hasn’t felt this happy in a long time.

“Come on, Dyodoro. It’s not every day that I get to tease you.”

Judging from Chanyeol’s expression, Kyungsoo could say for certain that he feels the same way, too.

\--

“I missed that,” Chanyeol says.

“I assume your adoptive family doesn’t insist on Sunday family dinners?” Kyungsoo says, as they step out into the wet pavement, smelling piss and rain and the cold air of the city hitting their faces.

“They’re different,” Chanyeol says. “Even if they do, I don’t think it will beat Young Mee’s Sunday dinner, though,” he beams while looking down at his shoes. Suddenly Chanyeol finds his laces are more interesting than the skies, the lights or Kyungsoo’s face. Kicking a pebble, he then shoves his hands down his jeans’ pockets and simply says, “Well.”

“Well?”

“This has been fun,” Chanyeol remarks. “It’s been good to see you again, Kyungsoo. I gotta run. Early start tomorrow,” he says. Chanyeol is at least a head taller than Kyungsoo, but already he is folding himself, slouching as if he wants to be smaller.

Kyungsoo feels compelled to reach out and ruffle Chanyeol’s hair, so he does. Startled, Chanyeol looks down at Kyungsoo with a glint in his eyes.

“Hey, Park Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo says. “Don’t be a stranger.” Chanyeol’s worried expression softens considerably, his thin lips curving into a hint of a smile. “You know you’re still my friend, right?” Kyungsoo teases.

The look Chanyeol throws at Kyungsoo is soft, innocent— _secretive_. “No, Father. I won’t be,” he hums, before lifting his head up suddenly— a sharp movement which causes Kyungsoo to jolt. “Wait. Did you mean it?” Chanyeol asks.

“About what?”

“The friend bit?”

Kyungsoo snickers softly, before pulling his hand away from Chanyeol’s head. “Yes, you’re my friend. In fact, you’re my _best_ friend, and now that you’ve come back, I couldn’t ask for more,” he tells Chanyeol— because it’s the truth.

Chanyeol is jittery on his feet, beaming from ear to ear. It’s hard not to notice— not when Kyungsoo thinks that Chanyeol is radiating warmth and glow like sunshine, despite the evening chill. Chanyeol’s toes twitch a victory dance when he couldn’t show his joy outright, but Kyungsoo knows that Chanyeol is _happy._ He thinks his heart could easily soar from just watching how Chanyeol’s eyes widen in incredulity, in shock, in joy.

“Was that hard to say?” Chanyeol asks expectantly.

“Not at all, Chanyeol.”

“Thanks,” Chanyeol says, as he tries to suppress a wider smile. He fails utterly.

Chanyeol disappears through the night like a phantom, leaving Kyungsoo alone— with a tattered umbrella and the fragile promise of a renewed friendship.

It is times like these that made Kyungsoo wonder if Chanyeol ever has someone he could call friend at all, in the time he’s been away. Or were they just colleagues, acquaintances, passers-by?

The only person Chanyeol ever speaks about with fondness was Young Mee – but even then, it is out of reverence, respect, maternal. Kyungsoo idly wonders if he’s ever loved anyone else.

If he has ever loved anyone at all.

 

* * *

 

 

Kyungsoo makes it a point to try and have lunch with Chanyeol every day at Dongdaemun Plaza– sometimes it is Chanyeol who waits for him outside his parish, and sometimes it is Kyungsoo who waits for Chanyeol outside his school. Everything is as it should be – ordinary and humdrum. Sitting in the park eating ice-cream as they watch people wander past, as if they’re eleven again, playing hooky.

“How come I don’t see you at Church?” Kyungsoo probes, after swallowing a spoonful of peanut butter and jelly ice cream.

Chanyeol nearly chokes on his ice cream. “I don’t subscribe to Christianity, Kyungsoo. Let alone Catholicism,” he scoffs, before adjusting his sitting position on the bench so that his entire body faces Kyungsoo. “Are you trying to convert me? You some sort of missionary now?”

“Chill, man,” Kyungsoo says, holding up a hand, with a plastic spoon still between his thumb and forefinger. “I’m just asking.”

“We were raised Presbyterian,” Chanyeol explains.

“And?”

Chanyeol shrugs. “I’m a heathen, I suppose. Always has been. Remember Sister Mary chasing after us with a broom? I was the worst,” he reminisces, closing his eyes against the sudden sun rays blinding his vision. He opens them again when he realizes that Kyungsoo has blocked the light by holding up his arm. “That better?” Kyungsoo asks, before shifting his position and sits directly opposite Chanyeol, acting as a shield against the sun rays. Shadowed by Kyungsoo’s silhouette, Chanyeol asks, “Am I doomed, Father?”

“Stop,” Kyungsoo says. “At least eat your ice cream properly, you heathen,” he jokes, before lifting a thumb to wipe the corner of Chanyeol’s mouth. Chanyeol visibly freezes and turns away from Kyungsoo.

“That’s Do Kyungsoo for you,” Chanyeol says, without looking at Kyungsoo. “Always looking after me like you’re some kind of big brother, or something.”

“That includes getting hit by Sister Mary’s broom for you,” Kyungsoo reminds him.

“Or wrecking the hell out of Oh Dae Suk when he called me a faggot?”

“He deserved it,” Kyungsoo declares astutely. “And he didn’t just call you a faggot— he called you all sorts of spiel, sprayed your locker and flushed your books down the toilet, among other things. Someone had to stand up to him. It’s basic human decency.”

“I don’t need reminding, Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol sighs, looking pained. “What makes this even more fucked up is that you’re still younger than me. I’m the one who’s supposed to be looking after you.”

“Age is just a number.”

Chanyeol takes another spoonful of his mint chocolate ice cream and looks ahead contemplatively, eventually setting his sight on an elderly woman walking her Akita. “Yura told me that you went to Sungkyunkwan. Became a Politics major, and then, what? You went to Officer Candidates School and joined the Marines?” he asks. “I thought I knew you but even that’s just too random. And now this whole priest-gig? My mind is blown.”

“Ethics, Politics and Economy, if you want to be pedantic about it,” Kyungsoo corrects Chanyeol. “I was too idealistic. Still am, maybe. I wanted to change the world.”

“So, Mr Do Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol alters his voice tone in a bad imitation of a KBS news anchor, “Have you succeeded?”

“Ask me again in ten years,” Kyungsoo scoffs derisively.

Chanyeol chuckles, before pretending to blow raspberries. “So how does this work?”

“What works?” Kyungsoo asks, confused.

Chanyeol bites his lower lip and puts his ice cream cup aside. “Yura told me that you had a fiancé. Then she ran off with one of your university buddies while you were in Iraq.”

“Is there anything that she doesn’t tell you?” Kyungsoo asks, alarmed.

“No, but hear me out,” Chanyeol reaches over and touches his knee, whispering conspiratorially. “So you don’t—,” he falters, “—now? Ever?”

Kyungsoo snorts. “Are we seriously having the sex talk right now? Seriously?”

“Yeah, _seriously_ ,” Chanyeol insists. “Look, I’m not blind. You ain’t, either. People look at you like they want to eat you. On our way here, I’ve seen five girls and two guys checking you out.”

“ _Only_ five girls and two guys?” Kyungsoo jokes, but the prickly heat under his collar is beginning to make him uncomfortable. He is all too sure that Chanyeol could see how Kyungsoo is transforming into a human beet root right now.

“Come on, Kyungsoo. Especially when they know you’re a priest. You’re like, this unattainable dude on a pedestal. How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Abstinence. Celibacy. All that— _jazz._ ”

“All that jazz?” Kyungsoo repeats Chanyeol’s phrase, bemused. “It’s called sublimation, Chanyeol. I’m channelling all this energy to do something better,” he explains. _“Hopefully,”_ Kyungsoo shrugs and manages a wry smile. “I don’t miss it anyway,” he says, expecting Chanyeol to respond with something outrageous. But Chanyeol continues to stare at him like he’s some kind of a malfunctioning anomaly, and doesn’t speak. Their ice-creams have melted in the paper cups, and Kyungsoo moves to lick some of the peanut butter that has spilled onto his thumb. He notices Chanyeol’s gaze flicker, before tending to his own ice cream cup, nearly forgotten in the sun.

“What’s wrong, Chanyeol?” Kyungsoo asks.

“Nah,” Chanyeol shakes his head forlornly. “I didn’t expect this, is all.”

“You didn’t expect me becoming a priest?”

“No,” Chanyeol smiles, but he seems sad. “No, man. I didn’t expect _you._ ”

He doesn’t elaborate, and Kyungsoo doesn’t press for answers.

It’s probably better this way.

 

* * *

 

 

Kyungsoo doesn’t hear from Chanyeol the next day, or the next, or the next. Despite Chanyeol’s sudden radio silence, Kyungsoo finds out from Young Mee that her diner is saved from demolition. An unknown company has bought the piece of land, subsequently stopping the previous plan of tearing down the buildings for redevelopment. One week later, Yura phones excitedly from Busan, saying that her ex and his mistress have been arrested for embezzlement and money laundering.

Young Mee even wondered if an angel has been sent to bless them.

“Hmm, I’m not quite sure about that,” Kyungsoo has said over the phone this morning, before cycling to his parish. He has checked his phone again – his messages to Chanyeol have been ticked _unread_. Kyungsoo rings Chanyeol on his cell, but it only reaches his voicemail.

It is only at 1137 that he finally receives a reply – “Sorry,” Chanyeol has texted. “Have been very busy. Lemme make it up to you. Lunch? 1.30 pm, same place? I’ll buy.”

“Sure,” Kyungsoo texts back.

He waits at their usual spot, but there is no sign of Chanyeol anywhere. Twenty minutes passed, and Kyungsoo starts to worry. He rings Chanyeol again, but there is no answer. Kyungsoo grits his teeth and decides to cycle to Chanyeol’s school, where he speaks to one of the teachers. “I haven’t seen him since mid-morning,” she tells him apologetically. Another teacher informs Kyungsoo that Chanyeol has gone out to meet a friend for lunch.

 _I am the friend,_ Kyungsoo wants to say, but decides not to.

His big brother senses are kicking in again, he thinks, as he runs a hand in his hair, going through a mental list of places where Chanyeol may be. “Will you let me know when he turns up—,” he says, peering at the teacher’s nametag, “Wendy?”

“And you are…?”

Kyungsoo gives her the most dashing smile he could muster, and lowers the zip of his corduroy jacket to reveal his dog collar. “Father Do Kyungsoo,” he tells her.

“Oh.”

\--

It isn’t until he cycles past Mrs Byun’s store that he realizes what has happened.

The area has been cordoned off by police tapes. Police and ambulance sirens are blaring loudly as if they are warring against each other. In the midst of the crowd he could see Mrs Byun being wheeled out into an ambulance, while Sehun is being tended to by a paramedic, wrapped in a shock blanket.

Kyungsoo pushes through the murmuring crowd to speak to the beat cop guarding the police line. “What’s happening here?”

“The mob,” the cop says, appearing bored and aloof, before telling the journalists behind Kyungsoo to back off. “I have sources telling me that St Jude’s second-in-command has been shot dead, is that right?” one of the journalists asks.

“No comment.”

“The Five Suns is now on the trail for an escaped witness of the shooting?” the journalist persists.

“No comment,” the cop says, looking annoyed.

Kyungsoo turns to face the journalist. “What do you mean, escaped witness?”

“Rumour has it that there is a witness on the run, and the Five Suns gang is scrambling to find him before the Saint Jude gang does. I don’t know why. This is what we’re here to find out.”

Kyungsoo shudders. The journalist’s red lipstick is suddenly too bright, too violent, reminding him of blood and death and pestilence.

_What the fuck have you got yourself into, Chanyeol?_

\--

Kyungsoo doesn’t sleep at all that night.

He doesn’t even bother going out for his morning run. He sits slumped on his sofa, watching the rolling news report around the shooting. At least Mrs Byun and Sehun are safe, hopefully under police protection. Young Mee has heard of the news, but has little care for it – Kyungsoo knows she would snap if the cops ever names Chanyeol as the witness that they’re after. Detective Junmyeon continues to give vague answers when he was asked about it during the press conference. 

When he cycles to his parish, Kyungsoo doesn’t even whistle.

What greets him at the stoop of the parish is a familiar, but unwanted face.

“Detective Junmyeon,” Kyungsoo narrows his eyes warily. Standing behind the detective is a tall man wearing a leather jacket, an air of aloofness surrounding him, intently scrutinizing Kyungsoo.

“You recognize me, Father Kyungsoo,” Junmyeon replies. He flashes his first-grade Seoul Metropolitan Police detective badge anyway, as a courtesy. “This is Detective Wu Yifan,” he introduces his partner, who tilts up his head to acknowledge Kyungsoo. “Homicide.”

Kyungsoo nods. Detective Wu looks familiar too, although he often fades in the background of Junmyeon’s interviews. His height reminds Kyungsoo of Chanyeol, of Sehun, although Yifan appears much more domineering in his attitude than either of them. Kyungsoo’s gaze flickers towards the gun in his holster.

Force of habit.

“It seems like you’re the only face I see on TV these days, Detective. What gives?”

“Park Chanyeol,” Junmyeon replies, without further elaboration.

 “Yes?” Kyungsoo asks, feigning ignorance.

“He’s been missing since yesterday. His colleagues at the school where Mr Park teaches say that you have been asking for him.”

“We were meant to go out for lunch.”

“What is your relationship with him, Father?” Yifan interjects.

Kyungsoo tilts his head towards Yifan. “He’s my friend.”

“Uh-huh,” Yifan nods pessimistically.

Junmyeon clears his throat. “Would you care to give a statement at the station, Father?”

Just as Kyungsoo is about to give some semblance of an acid reply, Luhan appears at the parish door. “What’s going on here?”

“Police matter, Father,” Junmyeon says.

Luhan looks genuinely concerned. “Kyungsoo?”

“It’s fine, Luhan,” Kyungsoo reassures him. “Won’t take long.”

 

* * *

 

Kyungsoo hasn’t been in one of these interrogation rooms in a long time. It unsettles him, despite his training. He still manages to keep a stoical expression to throw the detectives off-guard. He’s done nothing wrong – no reason for him to be fearful. Kyungsoo worries for Chanyeol, though, wherever he may be.

_Please, God, let him be safe. Please let him live. Please save him._

He knows now that Chanyeol had been at the convenience store when the shootings happened. The Five Suns had burst into Mrs Byun’s humble little shop and fired bullets into one of her customer’s chest. The victim turns out to be Kim Jongin, the second-in-command of Seoul Metropolitan Police’s most wanted gang leader. The tragedy is that no one—including the Five Suns and the cops— know how St Jude looks like, or if he even exists. Everything that they know about him has been based on CI’s intel; all word of mouth and no concrete evidence. They’ve never been able to capture St Jude’s top associates, and when Jongin comes along, he is served to them on a cold slab.

What is certain, though, is that Jongin has appeared to tug at Chanyeol’s sleeve moments before his death, as they both lie on the ground, finding cover from the Five Suns’ spray of bullets. What is certain, though, is that Jongin has appeared to whisper something into Chanyeol’s ear – important information, perhaps? It was all captured on CCTV – the one which has been played for Kyungsoo, as if urging him to jog the memories that he doesn’t have. According to statements by Mrs Byun, aged 56, and Mr Oh Sehun, aged 23; Chanyeol fled the scene after making sure that they were safe, before the cops and paramedics arrive.

He has not been seen since.

\--

Kyungsoo smiles at his own reflection on the two-way mirror, knowing perfectly well that Detectives Kim and Wu are on the other side, studying him. He is sure that they would have pulled out his military records by now, and will be dissatisfied by the amounts of redacted information in the files that are already classified. On the flip side, it will make them all the more suspicious.

Let them dig for a bit, Kyungsoo ponders. He knows for himself that he has never been connected to the Kkangpae, if that’s the angle they’re going for. And Chanyeol was only at Mrs Byun’s store at the wrong place, at the wrong time. Victims of circumstance.

Junmyeon enters the room and slaps down a thin manila file containing his military records on the metal table. Kyungsoo is surprised that Junmyeon could get his hands on them at all.

“Aren’t you supposed to be looking for him, Detective?” Kyungsoo asks the stone-faced cop in front of him.

“I’m the one asking questions here, Father. Or should I call you—,” he leafs through the pages of the file, “Captain Do Kyungsoo of the 1st Recon? You guys are like, the Navy SEALS of the Marines, right?”

“My time in the Marines has nothing to do with Chanyeol’s disappearance.”

“Do Kyungsoo—,” Junmyeon ignores him and proceeds to read aloud from the file, “—born 12 January to unknown parents. Adopted by Lee Young Mee aged 13 from the St Patrick’s Home for Boys.” He scans the page further down and mumbles to himself, until he reads aloud again. “Graduated from Sungkyunkwan with an EPE major, before serving with the ROK Marines, and was even selected to join the USMC when they invaded Iraq. Lost a leg,” he tuts. “Pretty severe injuries you had back then, Captain.”

“It’s a miracle that I’m still alive when everyone else died from that IED, Detective,” Kyungsoo hisses.

“Of course. Which was why you decided to leave the Marines with the rank of Captain and joined the seminary. Ordained as a priest in the Archdiocese of Seoul,” Junmyeon feigns amazement. “Oh, and look. You’re also an Judo instructor in your spare time.”

“Is there any point to you summarizing my entire life to my face when Chanyeol is still out there?” Kyungsoo asks, calmly and evenly, with a polite smile on his lips.

“How long have you known Chanyeol, Captain?”

“All my life,” Kyungsoo says, struggling to stop himself from snarling. “And please don’t call me Captain, Detective.”

“How about Kim Jongin?”

“This is the first time I’ve heard of him.”

The exchange goes back and forth in circles, with Junmyeon and Yifan trying to form a flimsy connection between Kyungsoo and the Five Suns. They all lead to dead ends. His alibi checks out because he has nothing to hide. Meanwhile, with every second that Junmyeon wastes holding him here, the chances of Chanyeol being found dead exponentially increases.

“Why aren’t you talking to the Five Suns? Aren’t they the ones looking for Chanyeol? And how about this Saint Jude? Why would Jongin talk to Chanyeol before he died?” Kyungsoo asks, before the realization hits him. “You have no clue who Saint Jude is, and you have no clue what Jongin said to Chanyeol,” he confronts Junmyeon. “You’re in the dark just like everyone else and you’re chasing all the red herrings,” Kyungsoo says, eyes widening in astonishment. 

Junmyeon’s lips twitch uncomfortably. “How much do you think you know your friend, Father?”

“I know enough,” Kyungsoo snaps. “Are we done?”

Junmyeon keeps mum, before holding out the door for Kyungsoo to leave. “You can go now, Father.” Kyungsoo’s gaze flicker to the Eagle and Star tattoo on Junmyeon’s arm, half-hidden by his rolled-up sleeve. The Republic of Korea Marine Corps emblem.

“Goodbye, Captain,” Junmyeon says, with a knowing look.

Kyungsoo only manages a wry chuckle as he walks into the busy bullpen. Halfway down the corridor before the exit, Yifan stops him and holds up a police business card with his name on it. “If you hear anything from your friend, give me a ring.” Kyungsoo plucks the card from between Yifan’s fingers and nods courteously.

“I’ll think about it, Detective.”

\--

He returns to the parish in the evening, and sits at the furthest pew from the altar. Kyungsoo watches silently as the last elderly man stands up from his kneeling position at the altar, and makes his way towards the church exit. “Good night, Mr Lee,” Kyungsoo greets the man.

“Good night, Father.”

Kyungsoo clutches the wooden pew in front of him and nods in acknowledgment; listening for Mr Lee’s last shuffling steps and the creak of the mahogany doors closing. The smell of burning incense is strong within the church walls. Past the shadows and the candlelight, he could see Luhan’s silhouette as the older priest skulks towards Kyungsoo.

He grips the pew harder. Kyungsoo’s angry—at Luhan, at St Jude, at Chanyeol, at God. He wants to scream, _God, why are you tormenting me_ – but he doesn’t. He reins it in, patience, like every good Christian should.

“Do you know him?” Kyungsoo asks as soon as Luhan takes a seat beside him on the pew.

 “Who?” Luhan asks, voice strained from exhaustion.

“Saint Jude,” Kyungsoo curtly replies without even looking at Luhan. He fixes his gaze at the giant crucifix at the altar, rosary beads between his fingers. “Who is he, Luhan?”

There is no point of hiding the truth when Luhan clearly knows something. He has been tetchy since the Yellow Dragon’s death, and visibly shudders at the mere mention of St Jude’s name. Luhan remains hesitant, but eventually gives up after Kyungsoo shoots him down with an accusatory glare.

“He’s the Dragon’s illegitimate son,” Luhan confesses.

Kyungsoo draws a sharp breath. “Saint Jude?” 

Luhan nods. “The Dragon was the head of the Blue Lotus gang in Seoul. After his capture by the cops, the gang just collapsed. Jude’s mother was young. Pretty. Nothin like the Dragon’s ol’lady. She didn’t want no girl hasslin his man, so she got Jude’s mother murdered. She’s dead now, the Dragon’s wife. So when he got out of jail, guess who Jude’s targeting for revenge for his mother’s death?”

“That’s why Jude killed his father,” Kyungsoo infers. “Oedipus complex at its finest.”

“I’ve never met Jude,” Luhan says. Kyungsoo rolls his eyes incredulously. Is there anyone who knows who St Jude really is? “But I know that he’s vengeful, and he’s reclaiming what he thinks he’s lost,” Luhan continues.

“Well, now I’ve lost the same good friend for the second time in my life,” Kyungsoo’s grip on the wooden pew tightens, “—so he should be wary of my own vengeful wrath.”

“I know you’re angry—and confused—,” Luhan begins, before Kyungsoo interjects sharply. “Where is he, Luhan? I’m _this_ close to tracking down the son of a bitch myself.”

“I don’t know. He never shows his face. And _this—_ ,” Luhan tries to calm Kyungsoo, “—this isn’t the path you want to take.”

“Too late, Luhan. I’m already on the warpath.”

He is about to leave the parish before he senses that something is wrong – unfamiliar faces hovering around the streets outside the church. Kyungsoo knows a thug when he sees one, and there are at least five of them lurking around the perimeter of the parish. Somehow the Five Suns has made the connection between Chanyeol and Kyungsoo.

“Take care of yourself, Luhan. Go about your business as normal,” he says. “Haul ass after I leave here, understand?”

“What do you mean?”

“And don’t do anything stupid,” Kyungsoo tells Luhan.

“Isn’t it me who’s supposed to say that to you?” Luhan shrieks in panic.

Kyungsoo shrugs unrepentantly and leaves the parish through the backdoor. The Five Suns thugs seem completely unaware that he has left the building – or maybe Kyungsoo has this all backwards. Maybe it isn’t him they’re after in the first place.

Nevertheless, he opts for a shortcut back to his apartment and reaches for his worn Marine duffel bag, pulling out a Daewoo he hasn’t used in years from its bottom. He cocks and uncocks the gun before slipping it behind his back, held in place by the waistband of his trousers, hidden by his corduroy jacket. He takes off the white plastic from his collar and shoves it into his back pocket. On the way back to the church, he picks up a burner phone, just in case, and dials Detective Wu’s number from the card he gave him.

“Hello?”

“You gave me this number.”

“Kyungsoo?”

“I’m not sure if you’re aware, but there are Five Suns eyes on my turf. You wanna tell me why? Or if the cops are going to deal with it?” Kyungsoo asks tersely, before hanging up.

By the time he reaches the parish, there are two thugs guarding the main door. Kyungsoo enters through the emergency exit and hides in the shadows, moving silently as not to get heard or seen. He hears them even before he manages to clap eyes on them. He barely could make out what they were saying, but understands enough to know that they have found what they were looking for.

Tiptoeing quietly, Kyungsoo sneaks up to the first thug and chokes him in a headlock, before pressing the muzzle of his Daewoo at the man’s throat. Turning to face the other thug, Kyungsoo finds himself locking gazes with Chanyeol at the opposite end of the balustrade, with a gun pointed to his head. Chanyeol’s hands are ziptied, mouth taped – and his eyes widen when he finally sees Kyungsoo. His face is bruised, his light blue hoodie stained with crusted blood—Chanyeol looks like he’s been through hell. The thug who is holding Chanyeol doesn’t stand a chance – Kyungsoo manages to shoot his kneecaps before he could put a bullet through Chanyeol’s brains, falling to the ground with a pained groan. He tries to shoot Kyungsoo, but Chanyeol kicks his hand and the gun misfires, with the bullet hitting his comrade instead.

Kyungsoo pulls a Swiss knife from his back pocket and cuts through Chanyeol’s ziptie, before pulling the tape off Chanyeol’s face. “Don’t say anything. We gotta run,” Kyungsoo says gruffly. Just as they try to dash for the back door, three more thugs appear and starts shooting at them. Kyungsoo provides enough covering fire for Chanyeol to escape, but not before one of them manages to put a bullet through Chanyeol’s left torso. “I’m hit,” Chanyeol groans, looking pale as he struggles to move. Kyungsoo puts one of Chanyeol’s arms around his shoulder and starts dragging him through the hot summer night, lurking through the shadows. “Hang in there buddy,” Kyungsoo exhales, as they hide in corners of streets and alleyways, avoiding discovery by the Five Suns. “How many are there and why are they after you?”

Chanyeol only manages a weak shake of his head, before Kyungsoo takes his hand and tugs him along again. “You gotta keep pressure on the wound – you’re gonna bleed out.”

“Is this how I’m gonna die? Running through the streets of Seoul with my best friend?”

“Quit talking nonsense,” Kyungsoo says with a clipped tone, before he sees a light illuminating a sign which says _‘Song and Sons, Funeral Directors.’_ Hearing footsteps behind them, Kyungsoo quickly breaks into the property via the back door. He pulls out his burner phone and starts to dial 112, but Chanyeol stops him. “Please. No cops.”

“Chanyeol—,” Kyungsoo warns, “—you need medical attention.”

“No, please.”

“I can’t let you die!”

Catching for breath, Kyungsoo crouches and briefly checks on Chanyeol’s wound. Chanyeol merely leans back against the wall and slides to the ground, as if resigned to his fate. “They won’t find us in here – at least not for at least half-an-hour before they figure it out,” Kyungsoo says. “Let’s patch you up, Chanyeol. I don’t have painkillers on me so you’ll have to bear it, okay?”

Chanyeol has lost enough blood to collapse on the floor as soon as they reach the embalming room. Kyungsoo struggles to get him up on the table – it’s been too long since he has done this, in the field, at least fifteen years ago. “I don’t think they’ve hit any vital organs, so you’re okay,” he reassures Chanyeol. Pulling the bloodied hoodie off, Kyungsoo tells him to lie down and unbuttons Chanyeol’s shirt, before searching for equipment to stitch him up.

“What were you doing in my parish, Chanyeol? Why didn’t you go to the cops?” Kyungsoo asks worryingly, as he pulls a pair of gloves on his hands. He starts digging in the wound for the bullet, earning an agonized scream from Chanyeol – “Calm down, Chanyeol. It’s not deep, see?” Kyungsoo says. He fishes out the bloodied bullet and shows it to Chanyeol, who responds by laughing – but even the slightest movement catches him, causing Chanyeol to groan even louder. Kyungsoo squeezes small bottles of sterile water to clean the wound, stuffing it with gauze while he prepares his suturing Chanyeol.

Chanyeol clutches the metal sides of the table tightly, waiting for the next onslaught of pain. His face is ghostly white. “The cops wouldn’t be able to keep me safe,” he whispers sternly.

“Like hiding in my church would help,” Kyungsoo scoffs, as he pulls out the bloodied gauze and starts to suture Chanyeol’s wound. Chanyeol yelps in pain, causing Kyungsoo to nearly poke his own eye with the suturing needle. “You gotta stay still, Chanyeol. I don’t have anaesthetics because they only stitch up dead people in here.”

“I’m sorry, Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol manages between the interlude of Kyungsoo pricking his skin with the needle, pulling the needle and tying the suture thread. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles repeatedly, like a litany of prayers.

“What’s going on, Chanyeol?” Kyungsoo asks, as he starts another interrupted suture. “What did Jongin say to you? Why are the Kkangpae after you? Why did you go to the church?”

So many questions, and yet he knows that Chanyeol doesn’t have the strength to answer any of them coherently. Chanyeol doesn’t squirm as much now, and Kyungsoo has to look up just to make sure that Chanyeol is still alive. He is. Chanyeol is getting used to being stitched up; his pain tolerance has increased with each prick and tug of the needle and thread.

“I’m sorry, Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol mumbles deliriously. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Kyungsoo thinks he’s done a botched-up job of closing the wound, and Chanyeol might benefit from some stat saline and morphine right now, but at least the bleeding has slowed. He puts more gauze on top of the wound for pressure and tapes it with Micropore, before he hears more shouting and footsteps down the corridor. “Shit, they found us.”

His burner phone rings at the same time. Yifan.

“Where the fuck are you?” Yifan asks, sounding desperate. “The Five Suns are everywhere.”

“Song and Sons, Funeral Directors. We’re cornered. Hurry,” Kyungsoo orders, before hanging up. He checks his ammo and thinks that it would last him five more bullets before running out. He has to risk it. The Five Suns are making a sweep of the floor, checking every room in the funeral parlour. It won’t take long before they find Kyungsoo and Chanyeol, especially with the blood trail that Chanyeol has left, like cookie crumbles.

When the first thug enters the embalming room, Kyungsoo knocks him off with one blow to the head and shoots the second and third ruffians, also in their kneecaps. Maybe his Krav Maga isn’t that rusty after all, even if he’s become more of a Judo trainer these days. Another one bites the dust, then another. They are falling like flies, but Kyungsoo knows that this is only the first wave. The Five Suns haven’t pulled out the big guns yet.

Gunshots are fired through the glass apertures of the embalming room. The Five Suns now know their exact location for sure, and he needs to get out of here fast. “Stay down,” he tells Chanyeol. “I got this.” He peers out the door again and is satisfied that it’s clear, before signalling Chanyeol to stay close to him. “We gotta get out of here, okay?” Chanyeol nods. Kyungsoo clutches Chanyeol’s icy cold hand just to make sure that he doesn’t leave him behind, as Kyungsoo has done years before.

More thugs coming their way, right left and centre. It doesn’t bode well – until he hears more gunshots coming from out of the building. He breathes a sigh of relief when Yifan comes charging with two cops – and five more men who don’t look like archetypal cops to Kyungsoo. They are using non-regulation weapons and methods that are against police protocol – and Kyungsoo could feel his blood being drained out of his body. Chanyeol grips his hand tighter.

These men aren’t cops.

“Jude!” Yifan shouts, running towards Kyungsoo and Chanyeol over a pile of Five Suns bodies, but stops when Kyungsoo cocks his gun at the taller man.

“Who are you?” Kyungsoo asks, as Yifan mirrors Kyungsoo's movement with his own sidearm. Kyungsoo knows the answer, although it loathes him to say it. He now knows the answer to all his previous questions for Chanyeol, revealed in one single word, syllable; _name._

_Jude._

“Kris,” Chanyeol mutters. “Don’t shoot him. He saved my life.”

Kyungsoo should have seen it coming. He should have known.

With seven guns now all trained on him, Kyungsoo decides that the risk is not worth taking. He lets go of his gun and kicks it towards Yifan. He responds by throwing Kyungsoo a pair of handcuffs. “Cuff yourself,” he instructs Kyungsoo, before helping Chanyeol up on his feet. Kyungsoo could only watch him limp away in Yifan’s arms.

“I’m sorry, Kyungsoo.”

 _Judas,_ Kyungsoo thinks. “You tricked me.”

“You’ve always been so idealistic,” Chanyeol says with a mixture of pity and admiration, as he holds on to Yifan – whom he has addressed as Kris. “I used to be like that. Always wanting to please everybody. That’s where you and I now differ, my dear,” he coughs, before clutching painfully at his wound. “Sometimes you gotta be selfish and stand up for yourself, or they will trample all over you.”

“Whatever you’re planning, _Jude,_ ” Kyungsoo hisses, “—it’s not going to end well.”

“It’s a good plan, then,” Chanyeol smiles magnanimously, his cheeks pale in the half light of the corridor. The personification of an angel, speaking in the voice of Lucifer. “I’ve played the part beautifully, don’t you think? Always keeping my head down, always pretending that I’m meek, that I’m just a lackey. Because that’s what everyone thinks. Because that’s what I want them to think.”

Kyungsoo is torn, twisted between wanting to kiss Chanyeol, damning himself to eternity – or to punch him in his beautiful face, destroying that lazy smirk on Chanyeol’s lips. “Are you happy with all of this? Content?”

“I can ask you the same thing, Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol sneers, before shaking his head ruefully. “You miss that wretched hellhole, don’t you? Iraq? The warzone? You miss it,” he accuses Kyungsoo, “—and you thoroughly enjoyed tonight.”

“It’s _not_ a hellhole,” Kyungsoo snaps, surprised by the sudden ire that rises sharply inside his body. Chanyeol’s words always hit too close to home, and it scares him. Or is it something about the adrenaline that is messing with his emotions? “It’s harsh and hot and dry and it’s not _home_ , but it’s not the hellhole that everyone here expects it to be.”

“So it’s _not_ a hellhole,” Chanyeol retracts, “—but you still miss it,” he says pointedly. “You miss that life, but you also miss that cloying domestic life with Young Mee and Yura.” Kyungsoo’s handcuff clinks against the metal rail, jarring against the quiet of the funeral parlour. Police sirens begin to blare faintly in the background. Junmyeon is on his way, and he will be destroyed by the revelation that Yifan has been working for Chanyeol all along.

“I’m not going to be waxing lyrical about you, but there’s no spark in your eyes— it’s like _this_ —,” Chanyeol does the crucifix and prayer sign, “ _this_ isn’t living for you. It’s like you’re glad to be home, but you’re _gladder_ to be back out there in the field.”

Chanyeol’s words are like multiple punches to Kyungsoo’s gut.

“Chanyeol—,” Kyungsoo says.

“You know I’m right,” Chanyeol interjects, a perceptive look on his face. “This life is _not_ for you.”

“So you pulled me into yours?”

“I _never_ asked you to help me, Kyungsoo. Are you going to play hero and ask me to stop now? It’s too late.”

“Junmyeon is on your tail, as we speak.”

“I know.”

“You’re not invincible.”

“I _know,_ ” Chanyeol motions to his abdomen, where blood is already seeping through Kyungsoo’s makeshift dressing. “You patched me up real good, Kyungsoo. I know I’m surrounded by death. I’m not scared of it.” The siren is blaring louder, closer.

“We have to leave,” Yifan warns.

“Take care, Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol says, before escaping through the back alleys of the funeral parlour, into the dark corners of the night. Yifan and his men follow suit, driving through the flickering city lights, in an unmarked SUV.

Kyungsoo is left handcuffed to the rails, pathetically waiting for Junmyeon to find him – all battered and bruised, and completely fooled.

_God, why are you testing me like this?_

 

* * *

 

“I looked into our mutual friend,” Junmyeon informs Kyungsoo, in the same interrogation room Kyungsoo was held in less than 24 hours earlier. “After Park Chanyeol was adopted, he moved to Hong Kong,” he says.

“I know that,” Kyungsoo says, licking the blood off his split lip. “The family who adopted him said they were half-Chinese.”

“He was adopted by a famous Chinese triad family – the Li family,” Junmyeon explains, as if the name is supposed to mean anything to Kyungsoo. “Chanyeol’s adoptive brother is Li Jiaheng, who later used the name Kris.”

“Kris,” Kyungsoo mutters under his breath. _Goddamn it._ It all makes sense now.

“Kris—,” Junmyeon concurs, “—who cleverly manoeuvres his way up the police academy under the alias Wu Yifan,” he nods sagely, before showing a headshot of Yifan in a police uniform. “Spotless record, too.”

_How long have they planned this, Kris and Chanyeol?_

“Did you know?” Kyungsoo asks, his voice coming out strangled.

“Nobody knew. Until tonight. It didn’t click with me— until today—,” Junmyeon sighs, “—that Park Chanyeol is St Jude. And once we pursued that angle, everything makes perfect sense. Why Jongin spoke to him before he died. Why the Five Suns gang is after him.”

_But why did he hide in my church? Luhan knew nothing about it either._

Kyungsoo’s gaze drops to an old black and white photo of a beautiful lady in a dress – save for the part that she is lying with her eyes open, in a pool of her own blood, two clean shots to her chest. “Who’s this?” Kyungsoo asks, putting a finger on the photo and slides it towards Junmyeon.

“That’s Chanyeol’s real mother,” Junmyeon growls under his breath. “She was a jazz singer in the 1970s. Classy, even at the end. It was an unsolved case, but obviously, there are dirty hands involved. It was messy.”

The Yellow Dragon’s mugshot from thirty years ago is also in the pile.

“We have never been able to prove it, but we now believe that the Yellow Dragon and the Blue Lotus were involved, somehow, in her death. But before her demise, she has asked this handsome fella here—,” Junmyeon points to the mugshot of Jo Insung, who was the Dragon’s right hand man, “—to take care of our mutual friend. He sticks our boy in St Patrick’s—eleven months before you were born, until the Dragon was put behind bars.”

“And asked the Li family to take Chanyeol out of there,” Kyungsoo surmises. “To groom him to take the Dragon’s place.”

“I wish it was just that,” Junmyeon clicks his tongue. “Because of his organization’s subversive methods and hacking expertise, our mutual friend has been able to manipulate and bring the entirety of the Korean Kkangpae under his thumb. Even the Japanese Yakuza fear him,” he informs Kyungsoo. “Your best friend is now the King of Korea.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“I’m telling you because Yifan was one of the best cops I’ve ever worked with, but we never knew that he was Kris. I’m telling you because your boy Chanyeol – his slate was clean. Both of them have been living double lives, right under our noses, and we trusted them. I trusted Kris.”

“Don’t sweat it, Detective,” Kyungsoo sighs. “I trusted Chanyeol too.”

_I trusted him with my life._

 

* * *

 

 

Kyungsoo dreams at night, and in every dream there was Chanyeol.

And every time he wakes, God—

_Why?_

 

* * *

 

 

Kyungsoo has been given time off for a week after what happened. During the confrontation, not only his coat was ruined by bullet holes and Chanyeol’s blood. His apartment was also thrashed by the Five Suns, during the time they were being chased down the streets. They’ve clearly assumed that Chanyeol and Kyungsoo would be seeking refuge there instead of a random funeral parlour. With most of his possessions destroyed and broken, Kyungsoo had to move out into a temporary accommodation – a youth hostel behind the church, which is surprisingly handy for work.

They’ve even thrown his bicycle out of his apartment window.

Mrs Hwang doesn’t even say hello to him when he went back to his old apartment to retrieve his stuff – she just stares with wonderment and a tinge of fear, as she cleans up the broken glass from Kyungsoo’s window on the streets. She doesn’t even comment on the bruises on his face.

Young Mee has been especially distraught by the revelation of Chanyeol’s true identity. Kyungsoo has downplayed his involvement in the incident – she doesn’t even know that he still carries a gun, let alone the fact that he has been involved in shooting the kneecaps of Korean mobsters. Junmyeon, on the other hand, has decided not to charge Kyungsoo. They’ve even offered him to be under witness protection, which Kyungsoo respectfully declines. Even as the cops continue their pursuit of St Jude, it proves to be difficult to dig up any legitimate evidence to pin him down. St Jude’s men are either very loyal or very careful despite the round-the-clock surveillance, and Junmyeon can’t help but wonder if Chanyeol has eyes and ears in every police station in Seoul.

Kyungsoo still has a hard time accepting that Chanyeol has grown to become a feared mobster. Chanyeol’s photo on the newspaper front page was a goofy one, with his impish dark eyes and permed copper curls, wearing a Supreme hoodie and throwing a peace sign. It was snatched off his Facebook profile, and he doesn’t look an inch like your typical mafia boss. The photo was snapped with his special education grad school buddies while they were on holiday, somewhere in Europe. 

The Met Police’s initial background check on Chanyeol has been squeaky clean, as was their second and third. His cyber footprints are pristine. It should have been the tell-tale sign of someone harbouring a dark secret. Chanyeol’s mobile phone number no longer works. It shouldn’t have come off as a surprise.

What does, though, is a parcel that comes three days after Kyungsoo fully moves into the hostel. He’s on his way out anyway, to see Luhan about the upcoming Summer Fete that the parish is organizing. Kyungsoo has never been one to sit idle when he was told to rest. It’s more of the fact that Luhan doesn’t want the parishioners to get worried if they see Kyungsoo with a black eye and a torn lip. They’ve cooed over him enough when they first found out that he’s lost his left leg in Nasiriyah.

The delivery kid who stands at the doorframe hands him a massive box and asks him to sign his register. Kyungsoo blinks awkwardly when the door closes on him, with the heavy package in his arms. He has not expected a delivery today. Apart from Luhan, Young Mee and Yura, no one knows where he lives, apart from maybe half his parishioners who have seen him lugging the remnants of his possessions from his old apartment.

Kyungsoo picks up his Swiss knife and stabs through the top of the cardboard box, cutting through the layers of masking tape. Inside the parcel is an expensive-looking box, which Kyungsoo struggles to lift out of the original packaging due to the amount of polystyrene and confetti covering it. Emblazoned on top is a word, all in capitals: BELSTAFF. Kyungsoo drags a sharp breath. He picks up a small card attached to the box.

“Sorry about your old coat,” it reads, in an all too familiar scrawl, undated and unsigned.

“Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo mutters. “You fucker.”

Lifting the lid, Kyungsoo takes a sharp breath at what he sees. He pulls out the magnificent trench coat out of the layers and layers of expensive wrapping paper, feeling the glorious wool and cashmere against his fingertips. It isn’t even the right season for a trench coat. It must have cost thousands of dollars, he thinks. It must have cost more than what he currently owns in the hostel room.

As Kyungsoo is recovering from his initial shock, his burner phone vibrates on the table. An unknown number.

He picks it up. “Hello?” Kyungsoo offers guardedly.

“Do you like it?”

Kyungsoo has intended to be calm, cautious. Instead, he practically shouts down the phone in pure rage, and if he grips the phone any harder, it might have crumbled in his fist.

“What the fuck, Chanyeol?”

Chanyeol remains unperturbed, despite the split second hesitance before his reply. “Consider it an apology. I’m sorry. I didn’t know that the Five Suns would go so far as to wrecking your place,” Chanyeol says, sounding a bit too nonchalant for Kyungsoo’s taste. “We’re good now, though. They won’t hassle you ever again. Are you okay?”

 _This is wrong,_ Kyungsoo thinks. _This is sinful._

He stares up at the crucifix on the wall, watching Jesus bleed, silently praying that God will help him resist Chanyeol. But the statue only stares dumbly back.

Kyungsoo glances down at the lapel of the coat, thumbing the button holes as he tries to process Chanyeol’s words. “Never better,” he replies, more bluntly than he’s intended. “Where are you, Chanyeol? Have you been watching me the whole time?”

“Not the whole time, no. But I _have_ been watching,” Chanyeol says judiciously. “Can’t take any chances when everyone’s out for blood.”

It should have been a test, just like any other tests. Kyungsoo usually excels at them. He could resist temptation, but he’s never been tested like this.

Not Chanyeol.   _Never_ Chanyeol. 

Kyungsoo steadies his breathing. Chanyeol is clever, phoning his burner phone from likely what is to be _another_ burner phone. Junmyeon has been tapping all possible lines of communication, and Kyungsoo wonders if anyone is listening to this conversation right now.

“Why, Chanyeol?”

“I ruined your coat.”

“Chanyeol—,” Kyungsoo struggles to stay patient, “—you know what I mean.”

A soft, shuffling sound. Kyungsoo wonders where Chanyeol might be. “I don’t think you’d understand,” Chanyeol replies gently.

“Try me.” Kyungsoo has heard enough licentious details in the confessional; he’s seen enough shit for Chanyeol to land him another one.

“Not here,” Chanyeol says.

“Then where?”

“I’ll come find you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Despite Chanyeol’s promise, Kyungsoo doesn’t hear from him for days after that, and he becomes more edgy and tetchy despite himself. He keeps the coat in its pristine packaging— locking it inside a heavy chest at his parish, instead of keeping a $2000 worth of trench coat in a $50 per week hostel room.

The parishioners are glad to see him back – but there is a certain kind of hesitance and newfound reverence that they have reserved for him— as if they _know,_ and doesn’t dare venture beyond the practiced “We miss you, Father Kyungsoo. How’s the eye?” line.

Even Luhan sees him in a new light, dancing the line between respect and trepidation. Luhan was a Blue Lotus man before turning to God, although Kyungsoo knows now that the good priest has been dabbling with less than savoury activities with the St Jude gang to keep the parish alive. The donations, the sponsorships, even the money to organize the upcoming fete.

It turns out that St Jude has been clawing his foothold longer than Kyungsoo thought – longer than before Kyungsoo even sets foot in this parish, imbuing his presence in the hearts and minds of the residents in the neighbourhood. Helping them under the guise of shell corporations and faceless individuals at their helm. Scratch deeper and they all lead to one man – Chanyeol.

Chanyeol’s only decided to come back to seal his father’s fate – except that misstep with Jongin and the Five Suns, forcing him to show his face. But even then it seems that Chanyeol relishes being in the limelight. Even Junmyeon, despite his grouches, admits that crime rates have gone down since St Jude came into power, monopolising the illegal businesses this side of the Han River.

Kyungsoo would not consider Junmyeon a friend, but he shares the cop’s experience of being a Marine, or his pain of being betrayed by someone close. Yet Kyungsoo couldn’t help but feel that he is betraying Junmyeon now, by speaking to Chanyeol and not letting Junmyeon know about it.

It’s been another long day of confessions, and Kyungsoo is rubbing his eyes tiredly when he hears the booth door open, the creak of someone sitting behind the latticed barrier.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”

Kyungsoo turns his head and locks gazes with a pair of dark eyes, glimmering treacherously in the soft lights filtering through the booth’s carvings.

“Chanyeol?” Kyungsoo yelps, nearly jumping off his seat, hitting his head against the wooden panel of the confessional. “How did you get in here?”

“I walked in. I told ya I’d come find ya,” Chanyeol says egregiously. “Did you like the coat I sent you?”

“I can’t accept it. It’s not—,” Kyungsoo stammers, before Chanyeol cuts him off. “It’s the kind of coat that suits you,” he says. “I know you’d look good in it.”

“Why are you even here?”

“To make amends,” Chanyeol tells him pointedly. “Are you angry at me?”

Angry is an understatement. Kyungsoo exhales loudly and covers his face with his palms. “I was worried for you,” he says, before turning to look at Chanyeol again. “The cops are after you now. How are you even able to walk in broad daylight?”

“I’ve made a deal with the Five Suns.”

“Like you’ve made a deal with the cops? How many moles have you planted in the police, _Jude?_ ” Kyungsoo asks, words laced with venom, making a point to use Chanyeol’s mob name instead.

If Chanyeol is astounded by Kyungsoo’s lividness, he doesn’t show it. “Junmyeon’s a good cop. Kris liked him,” he says. “But the cops won’t be able to touch us for a while. They’ve got nothing to tie us down to. Nothing tangible, anyway.”

Belatedly, Kyungsoo realizes that it was Chanyeol who has helped Young Mee to save her diner.  It was Chanyeol who tipped the cops in Busan about Yura's ex-husband and his mistress’s criminal activities, retaliating on her behalf. He confronts Chanyeol about it, but Chanyeol remains impenitent. “What’s done is done,” Chanyeol says, devoid of remorse.

Kyungsoo clenches his jaw. “Why did they call you Jude?”

“I’m a lost cause, and St Jude is of course—,” Chanyeol makes a windmill motion with his left hand, urging Kyungsoo to continue, “—the Patron Saint of Lost Causes,” Kyungsoo muses, before chuckling sardonically.

Chanyeol is far from a saint – he’s an unrelenting serpent, with that wicked smile on his face-- the shuddering voice that rips Kyungsoo’s soul apart, shaking his faith, making him question the entire purpose of his life.

“The day I met you, I was casing the parish for a smuggling op. Luhan’s been helping us, although he’d been reluctant to do it at first. Don’t think badly of him, Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol confesses. “I didn’t realize you were a priest here. I didn’t even think that I’d bump into you—,” Chanyeol wavers, suddenly fraught with emotions. It takes several seconds for Kyungsoo to realize that Chanyeol is holding back tears. “I didn’t expect you, Kyungsoo. I didn’t expect you _again._ ”

That’s what he meant— the first time Chanyeol said it, that day in Dongdaemun. He understands now.

“You’re such a fucking nuisance, you know that?” Chanyeol says, his voice breaking, undecided whether he wants to laugh or cry.

“Did you regret it?”

“Regret what?” Chanyeol retorts, hiding a sniffle.

“Approaching me in Mrs Byun’s store that day?” Kyungsoo replies. “If I’ve become such a nuisance to you?”

“Some days I do. But some days I don’t,” Chanyeol admits. “I needed to know if it was really you. And without you, I would be dead by now,” Chanyeol says contemplatively. “I owe you my life. It’s always been you who looked after me, so now it’s my turn to return the favour.”

“I don’t need your protection, Chanyeol. I could look after myself,” Kyungsoo insists, belligerent. Surprisingly, Chanyeol agrees with him. “Yes I know,” he says. “You could look after yourself,” Chanyeol lifts his gaze. Through the screen, he smiles at Kyungsoo, desolate.

“But that doesn’t stop me from worrying about you constantly.”

 

\--

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

Chanyeol doesn’t need to be, but he acts like a small guy trying to act tall. Perhaps it’s his experience growing up that somehow influenced his behaviour, although Chanyeol has never really elaborated on his school years, not after leaving Seoul. Kyungsoo could only imagine how it might have affected how Chanyeol walks, how he talks, how he cocks his head _cockily_ as if to prove a point. He’s not even scrawny, by Kyungsoo’s military standards, but Chanyeol thinks he needs to put his hair up. To give him the extra inch of height he doesn’t need.

 _You’re perfect the way you are, Chanyeol,_ Kyungsoo wants to tell him, but he isn’t sure if Chanyeol will believe him.

Chanyeol continues to haunt Kyungsoo, even when he is not physically there. Despite announcing his disinterest in the Christian faith, Chanyeol begins to attend Mass, distracting Kyungsoo from his job, as the mobster sits in his olive green three-piece-suit and square pocket, at the same spot every Sunday. Watching, learning, listening to everything – but accepting _nothing._ He doesn’t talk to Kyungsoo afterwards, let alone acknowledge his presence. Chanyeol merely stares demurely up at Kyungsoo when he places the consecrated bread between Chanyeol’s lips. “The body of Christ,” Kyungsoo will say, and Chanyeol will reply “Amen,” like a poster child for all things sweet and decent—acting the part of a good, gracious Christian.

It’s obscene.

His frequency of visits to Kyungsoo’s parish doesn’t escape Junmyeon’s attention. A few weeks later Junmyeon knocks on Kyungsoo’s door with a bottle of whiskey, announcing that he’s there for an unofficial visit, demanding Kyungsoo to tell him what the hell is going on. “If I hadn’t known better, I’d say that he’s infatuated with you,” he wags his finger at Kyungsoo. Drunkenly, he also presses Kyungsoo to become his informant, to take advantage of Chanyeol’s trust in Kyungsoo in order to infiltrate St Jude’s organization. Junmyeon cites duty and Kyungsoo’s previous experience as a Marine as the main reasons why he’s perfect for the job, but Kyungsoo declines the offer.

“I wouldn’t do that to Chanyeol. An eye for an eye and everybody gets blind, Detective,” Kyungsoo says deferentially.

He’s just not that kind of man.

\--

That night, after Junmyeon leaves, Kyungsoo thinks he must be dreaming again— because he’s walking on clouds, fluffy and bouncy, all white and golden and pristine. Winged cherubs playing harps flying above him, playing melodies of lullabies he once knew. He blinks, and suddenly he’s in a dark room, silent, before a glimmer of light appears in front of him. He continues walking, blindly following the light, warm; sacrosanct.

He blinks again, and two hands are welcoming him— no, embracing him with a pair of wings, the answers to all of his prayers. It is only when he looks up that Kyungsoo realizes that it is Chanyeol, who is cupping his face with such punishing gentleness. Bracketing Kyungsoo inside his the warmth of his unruffled wings, Chanyeol lowers his lips upon Kyungsoo’s for a searing kiss.

He could taste the radiance of Chanyeol’s smile, and it tastes like Heaven.

 

* * *

 

In his free time, Kyungsoo usually spends his Saturday morning teaching Judo to high school kids, before heading off to the east side of the park to play chess with Mr Cho. He has grown to know the elderly man in the last five years since coming home from Iraq, since joining the seminary. On this particular day, Mr Cho has checkmated him three times. Accepting defeat, Kyungsoo decides to call it a day and stop by Mrs Byun’s store to get bread on the way home.

Looking around, the shop has been refurbished; the bullet holes have been painted over and covered by new shelves. He shudders when he remembers that this is also the place where he meets Chanyeol for the first time, after what feels like forever.

“Hello, Mrs Byun. How are you?” he greets her at the till.

“I heard what happened,” she says, as she accepts his cash and hands his change.

Kyungsoo merely shrugs. He doesn’t want to talk about it. “Where’s Sehun?” he asks instead.

“Off for the day,” Mrs Byun replies curtly. She isn’t smiling today – she rarely smiles, but there’s something disturbing behind her perpetual frown.

“Something wrong, Mrs Byun?”

Despite her reticence, she eventually breaks and opens up. “It’s about Baekhyun,” she says.

Kyungsoo remembers Baekhyun— Mrs Byun’s only son. They’ve barely had any interactions with each other, but he feels that he knows enough about Baekhyun, because Mrs Byun tells Kyungsoo about him all the time. He knows, for instance, that Baekhyun used to be in the police academy but left because he felt that the environment was too strict. Recently, Mrs Byun also told Kyungsoo that Baekhyun had moved to Incheon before relocating to Seoul. Kyungsoo has also seen Baekhyun help out with the shop from time to time, but mostly it’s always been Sehun and Mrs Byun manning the floor. 

“What about Baekhyun?” he inquires.

“I don’t know what he’s been doing, but each time he sees me, he comes with money—too much money,” Mrs Byun says worriedly. “I don’t know where he gets it from. I’m so tired, Father. I tried speaking to him but he won’t listen. I pray for him every day, Father.”

Kyungsoo clenches his fist. “God is merciful,” he declares, although the words ring hollow even to his own ears.

“I’m getting older every day and I can’t always look after him,” she tells Kyungsoo.

“I’ll try to keep an eye on him, Mrs Byun. Don’t you worry,” Kyungsoo says, as he holds his loaf of bread close to his chest. He doesn’t even know who he’s attempting to reassure here – Mrs Byun or himself.

“God is merciful,” he repeats mechanically, as if on autopilot.

 _His mercy endures forever,_ Kyungsoo thinks.

\--

It’s only halfway down to the parish when a shiny black Jaguar slows down beside the pavement. The skies are grey and it has started to drizzle lightly, but it’s nothing Kyungsoo can’t handle. The passenger window rolls down and it is Chanyeol, leaning away from his driver’s seat to stick his head closer to speak to Kyungsoo. “Do you want a lift? I’m heading that way anyway,” Chanyeol says. The butterfly bandages on Chanyeol’s forehead doesn’t escape Kyungsoo’s attention. “The weather’s shit,” Chanyeol adds, as if to prove a point.

Kyungsoo hesitates and looks away, gasping slightly when a gust of wind suddenly hits him in the face. The rain chooses that exact moment to pour heavily, causing him to curse silently for forgetting his umbrella. In resignation, he enters Chanyeol’s car— before his loaf of bread gets completely drenched and inedible from the rain. The car smells leathery, masculine – sophisticated.

Beside him, Chanyeol is wearing driving gloves, clutching the steering wheels as he looks at the traffic ahead.  

He’s in a light blue suit today, making his eyes appear brighter than its usual hue. Chanyeol smells like soap, cigars and aftershave, but none is more overpowering than the other. Meanwhile, Kyungsoo elects to wear his usual worn-out jacket that he’s owned since high school, dog collar almost branded to his skin, bangs nearly covering his brows. His drill sergeant would be ashamed to call Kyungsoo a former Marine, if he were to inspect Kyungsoo’s current grooming standard. He’s in dire need of a haircut.

The difference between Kyungsoo and Chanyeol is like night and day.

The drive is silent. When Chanyeol pulls the car in front of the parish, Kyungsoo loosens his seatbelt and moves to open the car door. “Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol stops him, a gloved hand on his arm. Kyungsoo could feel his heart beating faster – he thinks Chanyeol could probably sense it through the layers of his black leather gloves and Kyungsoo’s corduroy jacket.

“Look in the glove compartment,” Chanyeol orders him. The engine is still running. Kyungsoo half-expects to see a gun, so he is startled to find a series of Polaroid photos of Chanyeol, from the time that they have been apart.

The missing years between being Park Chanyeol and becoming St Jude.

“That,” Chanyeol points out, “—was me in senior year of high school,” he says, as Kyungsoo flicks through the first few photos. He flips them over and reads the scribbles behind every photograph. Drama Society, the Marching Band, the Student Council, Scrabble Champion.

A pudgy nerd in a soft pale-coloured sweater, with thick-rimmed glasses decorating his features, grinning widely for the camera. Braces. Why isn’t Kyungsoo surprised? The kid in the photos was the spitting image of the old Park Chanyeol he once knew. He could only see faint traces of them in the photos, but now Kyungsoo thinks Chanyeol’s regal cheekbones could slice through paper.

He goes through the next set of photographs. They show a slightly older Chanyeol sans glasses in different variations, but much younger than he is now— but it’s not like Kyungsoo could differentiate it from the grainy photos – sporting different hair colours. Jet black, turquoise, blood red, electric blue. Glittery eye-shadow and mascara, accentuating his eyelashes. Black nail polish on slender fingers. For the lack of a better word, Chanyeol is _beautiful._

Kyungsoo compares the different set of photographs to the man sitting next to him, who is patiently awaiting Kyungsoo’s judgment. Chanyeol doesn’t seem like he’s aged at all, although Kyungsoo could trace the frown lines on Chanyeol’s forehead, the crescent-shaped crinkles at the corner of his eyes when he grins toothily. This Chanyeol is much more mature, much more composed, but no less animated and gregarious in the right kind of company.

_How did Chanyeol even become St Jude?_

Kyungsoo doesn’t know who’s the consummate betrayer – is it God, is it Chanyeol, or is it himself?

He doesn’t even realize that tears are streaming down his face, until he discovers that his vision is blurred and his face wet, while Chanyeol watches him with an inscrutable expression.

 “Can we start over, Kyungsoo? Properly,” Chanyeol says. “Please?” he pleads.

Kyungsoo presses the balls of his palms against his closed eyes, wiping his tears away. He doesn’t sob – this isn’t the time or place for that. “Is there any of the old Chanyeol left in you?” he asks, swallowing heavily.

“I haven’t changed, Kyungsoo. You know I haven’t. I’m still Park Chanyeol,” Chanyeol professes. “ _Your_ Park Chanyeol.”

 _You were never mine to begin with_ , Kyungsoo thinks – before he catches himself in shock. _Where did that thought come from?_

“Let me make up to you. Let me treat you to dinner. Tonight?” Chanyeol asks. “All Bar None in Gangnam, 7.30.”

Kyungsoo tucks Chanyeol’s photos inside the glove compartment and shuts it with a thud. He grinds his teeth unnervingly– he’s determined to say no; he _should_ say no. He thinks of Young Mee and Yura, he thinks of Luhan and Detective Junmyeon.

He thinks of God.

A thousand Hail Marys can’t help Kyungsoo now. He tries to come up with a prayer, but each time his mind comes up blank.

_Give me a sign. Make me stop. Make me leave. Push me away from him._

_Or are You going to keep betraying me, God?_

But God doesn’t reply, and Kyungsoo’s left to make his own choices.

Kyungsoo thinks of Hell and eternal damnation, and then, he thinks, _fuck it._

“I can’t promise,” he tells Chanyeol. “But I’ll try to be there.”

There is a pause; a silent beat, before Chanyeol swiftly leans across the gearstick and pulls Kyungsoo into a tight embrace. He has hugged Chanyeol so many times, but it has never felt like this, as he rests his forehead against Chanyeol’s shoulder, against the crook of his neck.  This Chanyeol wears the face of St Jude, a mob boss he’s supposed to fear, instead of Park Chanyeol, his friend.

“Thank you, Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol whispers gruffly against his ear. “I owe you my life.”

Kyungsoo pulls away and looks into Chanyeol’s eyes.

_When I asked You to save him, God, this wasn’t what I had in mind._

_Did You send him back to me to torment me?_

At the end of the day, Chanyeol’s still Chanyeol, no matter which name he chooses to use, which mask he chooses to wear. Maybe Kyungsoo doesn’t need to be so scared anymore.

At the end of the day, they’re all one and the same.

 

* * *

 

 

A crisis of faith is not unheard of. Kyungsoo sits with Luhan as the older priest takes a drag out of his e-cigarette, puffing raspberry-scented smoke that Kyungsoo inhales, sickly sweet in Kyungsoo’s lungs.

“I’ve never seen you so distraught,” Luhan comments, fingers trembling. Kyungsoo thinks that Luhan must have had internal crises from time to time, but he still _believes_ , and Kyungsoo envies him for that. Despite Luhan’s own clouded past, the hurt; the stretched-out numbness.

“God can’t help me this time, Luhan,” Kyungsoo says quietly. “The more I ask for help, He abandons me even more.”

“Maybe He’s helping you in ways that He deems necessary. Maybe He’s answered your prayers but you’re hearing it all wrong,” Luhan insists, gentle in his rebuke.

Kyungsoo lets out a sigh, before looking up at the intricate patterns of the parish’s ceiling. He doesn’t think he could offer any more prayers – it’s too late for all of that. He doesn’t think he could bear sitting around and doing nothing, waiting for some Messiah to deliver him a miracle.

It’s torture.

 

* * *

 

Kyungsoo has expected something out of The Godfather, but he is surprised by the hustle and bustle of the restaurant. Situated in the heart of Gangnam, the establishment is heaving with patrons. Kyungsoo has made the effort to look presentable, even if it will never match up to Chanyeol’s standard. He’s trimmed his hair into a buzzcut, ditching the corduroy jacket for a pea coat that Young Mee had bought him last Christmas.

He has intended to use this occasion to return the Belstaff coat to Chanyeol, carrying the package gawkily as he is escorted up to the second floor, where Yifan – no – _Kris_ – awaits. Another man named Yixing inspects the box while Kris frisks Kyungsoo for weapons. He’s good, Kyungsoo’ll give Kris that. He thoroughly pats Kyungsoo’s waist, his ankles, even the entirety of his entire prosthetic leg. “Don’t get any funny ideas, Father,” Kris says, before opening the door for Kyungsoo to enter, like a demon welcoming Kyungsoo into the deepest circle of hell.

Its fire is about to consume Kyungsoo whole.

Chanyeol doesn’t even scramble away when Kris and Kyungsoo barge unannounced into the room, inadvertently catching Chanyeol in the arms of an angel— a handsome stranger, as they are sharing an intimate moment; perhaps even a kiss. Kris clears his throat uneasily. “I _did_ knock,” he says, still holding the door open. The stranger is clearly not Korean – all pale-skinned, fair-haired and blue-eyed, a Seraph to Chanyeol’s Lucifer. Standing upright, the man has to be at least three inches taller than Chanyeol – who is already towering over Kyungsoo with his height. Sharing a brief smile with Kyungsoo, the angel licks his lips shrewdly, ambling past Kyungsoo in some semblance of temptation, to give them some privacy. 

“I can’t stay long,” Kyungsoo shifts his eyes awkwardly, as soon as Kris and the man leave the room. “I ditched a family dinner for this. I can’t make Young Mee and Yura worry more than they already do.”

“They don’t know that you’re hanging out with me, do they?”

Kyungsoo doesn’t even bat an eyelash. “No.”

“They don’t know about her ex or the diner either?”

“No.”

“I assume they won’t approve,” Chanyeol reflects, pursing his lips thoughtfully. 

“They specifically asked me to stay away from you.”

“So why are you here?”

“Because I worry about you,” Kyungsoo parrots Chanyeol’s words from a few days ago, “— _constantly._ ”

Chanyeol stares up at him blankly, mentally searching for words that never come.

“Also,” Kyungsoo says, breaking the heavy silence, “I came to return this,” he drops the Belstaff package on the low table between them. “I haven’t worn it.”

This earns him a more animated reaction from Chanyeol than seconds prior. “Come on, Kyungsoo. At least let me see you put it on before you return it to me. Please?”

Kyungsoo pinches the bridge of his nose and relents. “Fine,” he says, before lifting the coat from its packaging. Chanyeol watches eagerly as Kyungsoo rids himself of his pea coat and slides into the luxurious trench coat for the first time. There’s no denying that it fits Kyungsoo perfectly. He catches his reflection in the glass windows overlooking the ground floor of the restaurant, admiring the way he looks in impeccably tailored clothing. On the flip side, it also makes him look like a professional hitman.

“Past the priestly uniform you insist on adhering to—,” Chanyeol tells him, “—I don’t think you realize how embarrassingly attractive you are,” he says, appreciative of Kyungsoo’s figure in the well-cut garment. “You looked great in a cassock; I knew you’d look great in this coat. Shame that I never get to see you in your dress blues,” Chanyeol says.

It would be unfair if Kyungsoo doesn’t think the same of Chanyeol. Although he’s always been on the chubbier side he’s become leaner and meaner since leaving St Patrick’s, with a strong jaw and intense eyes. Chanyeol’s words are prolonged in a drawl, as if he’s spent too much time away from Korea, as Kyungsoo’s own dialect has changed considerably since joining the Marines.

They’re good at pretending to be people they’re not, Kyungsoo thinks. And as much fun he had from being a domesticated priest, Kyungsoo had dithered before eventually deflecting the National Intelligence Service’s persistent interest in recruiting him as an asset. It’s just another one of the secrets he couldn’t tell Young Mee— the thought of him working as a spy wouldn’t sit right with her, with Yura.

He couldn’t make them worry. That’s why he’s doing this, he rationalises. That’s why he’s content with just being a priest in a parish, because it’s small and safe. It’s between him and God, being _in_ the world and not _of_ the world.

It doesn’t quite explain his regular tête-à-têtes with Chanyeol, though.

It doesn’t explain tonight.

Maybe Chanyeol’s right. Maybe he does miss being back in the hellhole, in this pit of darkness and violence.

“I’ve got a job offer for you, if you’re really worried about me,” Chanyeol says suddenly.

Expectantly, Kyungsoo looks up at Chanyeol. “Ditch the clergy. Be my bodyguard,” Chanyeol proposes offhandedly.

“You’re insane.”

“Or,” Chanyeol retracts, “Don’t ditch the clergy. Be my bodyguard in your free time. I work mostly nights anyway,” he says. This time, he sounds serious.

“No,” Kyungsoo retorts. “That’s impossible.”

“What do you do in your free time, anyway?”

Kyungsoo shakes his head frivolously, despite himself. “I thought you’d have known, given how closely you’ve been keeping tabs on me in the last few weeks.”

“Outside baptising babies and feeding people with wine and bread?” Chanyeol asks, almost callously and with disregard. “That shit’s tasteless, by the way.”

“I don’t think you’ve invited me here just to insult my day job.”

Chanyeol’s train of thought is interrupted when Kris suddenly enters the room, looking alarmed. “I’m sorry, Jude, but Tao’s hit a snag. We gotta go,” he says, sparing a quick glance at Kyungsoo, who responds merely by folding his arms and pretending he doesn’t care.

“Told ya I mostly work nights,” Chanyeol says jauntily, before standing up to leave. “Am I making you uncomfortable, Father? Am I condemned?”

It is still jarring to see Chanyeol being confident and suave and brazened, interspersed with moments of fragility and frayed edges. Kyungsoo has no substantial reply to Chanyeol’s questions – although he has so many things to say, he doesn’t know how to begin, not when it’s Chanyeol.

“Please be careful, Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo mouths silently, instead. He hopes that Chanyeol will understand.

Chanyeol purses his lips, opening his mouth as if he is about to come up with a witty comeback. Instead, he narrows his eyes, as his mind continues to mull over Kyungsoo’s parting words. He is halfway out of the door before pivoting on the heel of one foot to face Kyungsoo again.

“Oh, and before I forget—,” Chanyeol says, in what almost seems to be an afterthought, “Happy belated birthday, Kyungsoo,” he attempts to smile. It doesn’t quite get there. He doesn’t quite meet Kyungsoo’s eyes, either. “Check the pocket of your coat for your birthday present,” he mock-salutes Kyungsoo before leaving the restaurant, disappearing through the throng of crowds.

Kyungsoo’s birthday was in January, and it’s now June. Chanyeol is too strange, sometimes.

It isn’t until Chanyeol is fully out of his sight that Kyungsoo finally reaches into his pockets.

He fishes out a key.

Feeing confused, Kyungsoo looks out of the glass windows overseeing the first floor. He sees the blond man from earlier now sitting at table sixteen, entertaining a different lady, looking very cosy with his new company. Kyungsoo eventually notices Kris and Yixing, who seem to be following in Chanyeol’s footsteps, leaving the restaurant via the front entrance. Joining Kris and Yixing is another familiar-looking man with pink hair, one whom Kyungsoo has not seen in a long time—not since a brief encounter at Mrs Byun’s store a good few months ago. He has to blink twice to make sure, but Kyungsoo is rarely wrong.

It’s Baekhyun.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t tell Mrs Byun what he knows. It would probably break her. What he does, though, is to tail Baekhyun when he exits his apartment block, all the way to a back alley in Itaewon a few days later. He doesn’t wear his dog collar today. It’s his day off – he’s allowed, he thinks – and he needs to take a break from writing sermons that he no longer believes in. Kyungsoo watches silently as Baekhyun meets up with Yixing– and another tall, dark-haired man. Baekhyun addresses the second man as Tao.

 _Tao’s hit a snag,_ as Kris has said, a few nights ago.

Kyungsoo is finally able to put a face to the name, now.

Tao hands Baekhyun a semi-automatic gun and a wad of cash, before they move off in different directions. Kyungsoo tails Baekhyun on the subway and he doesn’t even seem aware that he’s being shadowed. Kyungsoo thinks he should have called Junmyeon, but he doesn’t want to jump the gun. He’s used to working alone, with little backup. This is like child’s play to Kyungsoo.

Baekhyun is heading towards an abandoned warehouse in Jamsil-Dong, where he pulls out his gun. Kyungsoo’s hand automatically reaches for his own, too. There, he meets a dark-clad figure who seems oddly familiar, in a billowing trench coat, suit and tie – Kyungsoo thinks he’s seen him before, but where? His brain racks through TV interviews and newspaper articles, before it finally clicks. He gasps sharply when he figures out who the man is.

It’s Commissioner Kim Jongdae of the Seoul Metropolitan Police— Detective Junmyeon’s superior, who has been the most vocal about tackling the gang feuds in the city.

Kyungsoo inches closer, careful about not being seen. Surely Chanyeol hasn’t been able to bribe his way into the police department, up to its Commissioner?

He couldn’t hear what they are saying, but it is times like these that his lip-reading skills come in handy. What he thinks he’s seeing doesn’t compute with what he thought this meeting was supposed to be.

“They’re making the drop on Wednesday night, 10 pm at Incheon Harbour,” Baekhyun appears to say to Jongdae.

“Do you know who else will be there?” Jongdae asks.

Baekhyun begins to list a few names. “Tao, Yixing,” he says, “—and the buyer.”

Jongdae appears dissatisfied. “Do you know if St Jude will be there too?”

“He never shows his face,” Baekhyun frowns, tapping his boots against the ground. “You know that.”

“Fuck,” Jongdae hits his fist in frustration. “Do we know the identity of the buyer?”

“No dice – they’re very careful. They call themselves Balloon Party, which— frankly sir, is just their way of trolling us.”

 _‘Did I read that right?’_ Kyungsoo thinks. _Balloon Party? Really?_

“Good job, Baekhyun.”

“After this, I’m out, right?” Baekhyun asks, his face screwing up in frustration. “I’ve been here too long that I don’t know who I am anymore. I can’t keep lying to them, to my mom, to _everyone._ ”

“You’re a good cop, Baekhyun. That’s why we need you in Tao’s group. He trusts you. I trust you,” Jongdae says, before tapping Baekhyun’s shoulder in encouragement. “We’ll pull you out when it’s the right time, but now you gotta focus on the job.”

Kyungsoo’s heartrate is skidding off the roof. He has this all backwards from the beginning. Baekhyun is not just a goon in Tao’s group – he’s an undercover narcotic cop, hell bent on tearing St Jude’s empire, one drug trafficking op at a time. Baekhyun hasn’t left the police academy – it was just a story to strengthen his cover. Commissioner Jongdae is the only one who knows about Baekhyun’s real day job – until now. Kyungsoo feels that he has stumbled upon another dirty secret, and now he’s obliged to guard it with his life.

He doesn’t know what Mrs Byun would say if she finds out about this either. What’s worse? The trials of being a low-level drug trafficker or the tribulations of an undercover cop?

What Kyungsoo doesn’t know, however, is that Tao already had his suspicions about Baekhyun being a rat in his operation.

It nearly becomes his greatest downfall.

\--

Kyungsoo has thought about getting Junmyeon involved, but even that would risk compromising Baekhyun’s identity, even his life. At the same time, he worries that the sting op would implicate Chanyeol somehow, given that he’s Tao’s ultimate boss. In the end Kyungsoo decides to let it roll over, and continues to shadow Baekhyun in between writing and delivering sermons, and officiating marriages.

By the time Kyungsoo reaches the Harbour on Wednesday night, it was too late – he has barely reached the boat that they were on when he sees Yixing and another goon carrying a body bag, before dumping it into the boot of a car. Baekhyun is nowhere in sight – and from afar, Kyungsoo could hear Tao holler, “Burn that fucking bastard!” to Yixing.

Yixing appears to hesitate, standing at the boot of the car before fumbling with the body bag. “What the fuck are you waiting for?” Tao asks. Yixing turns around and holds up a wallet. “Getting rid of this,” he says. “Don’t want anybody recognizing the body.”

Tao lets out a chuckle. “By the time the car burns to the ground, no one will know who that rat is. Now get a move on, we’re already late. Fucking asshole ruined the entire thing,” he spits acridly. Kyungsoo watches patiently, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He’s not even sure if Baekhyun’s alive or dead.

The goons begin to pour petrol over the car, before Yixing lights a match and sets the car on fire. He walks away from the burning car and drives off with Tao, perhaps to meet the drug buyer at a backup location after this one has been compromised. Kyungsoo scrambles around to find a fire extinguisher, but fails to find any. The heat emanating from the car forbids him from getting closer, as roaring flames continue to engulf the car.

Kyungsoo doesn’t know what he’d tell Mrs Byun now. That her son is dead and Kyungsoo did nothing to stop it from happening? That her son was a hero and died valiantly for a lost cause?

But miracles do happen, sometimes.

Kyungsoo is about two strides from the car before the car boot, partially in flames suddenly bursts open. Baekhyun emerges from the flames, coughing and spluttering, bruised and battered – but alive. He scrambles out of the boot and falls to the ground, crawling away from the car wreck. As the world tilts back into normality, a pair of hands help him to stand up, getting him away as far as possible from the fire.  His face is black with soot.

Thinking that he was being attacked, Baekhyun tries to tackle Kyungsoo to the ground, before pointing a gun at Kyungsoo’s face. “I’m just trying to help,” Kyungsoo steps back and raises his arms in surrender. “I know about you, about Commissioner Jongdae, about Tao and St Jude. I know you’re a cop. We still can stop them,” Kyungsoo exclaims, widening his eyes as innocently as he could.  

“Father?” Baekhyun asks in confusion, furrowing his brows. He recognizes Kyungsoo. Baekhyun could barely stand, but he persists in training the gun towards Kyungsoo, unsure of what or who to trust anymore. “What are you doing here?”

“I know you’re a narc. I know that there was supposed to be a sting op happening tonight—,” Kyungsoo begins, before shaking his head. “They found out about you. How did they find out?”

“Tao had his suspicions. Another transaction that went wrong,” Baekhyun explains. “But I’m not the only narc,” he tells Kyungsoo. “Yixing is too, but I didn’t know until today. They tortured me, but Yixing made it look like he shot me. Gave me this,” he shows Kyungsoo a bunch of keys that Yixing’s left him, to rid himself of the handcuffs. Baekhyun lowers the gun. “You shouldn’t have come here, Father.”

“Well, your mom asked me to keep an eye on you, so, here I am.”

Baekhyun really doesn’t know how to respond to that.

\--

“Tao has arranged for another transaction to take place at a backup location,” Baekhyun explains as they escape from the harbour, running into the deserted parking lot. “If we’re quick enough, we’d be able to catch them red handed.”

“Do you know where it is?” Kyungsoo asks.

“It’s on the other side of town,” Baekhyun says. “We need a car or we won’t get there in time.”

Kyungsoo twirls around and sets his sight on a parked car about five metres away. “Will that do?” he asks Baekhyun, although he is already running towards it. He breaks the driver’s seat window and opens the door, silencing the blaring car alarm by rerouting the wires below the dashboard. Baekhyun watches in wonderment as Kyungsoo spends another five seconds with the wires, eventually starting the car engine without a key card.

“Who _are_ you?” Baekhyun asks. “You’re not just a fucking priest, are you?”

“I’m a man with a conscience,” Kyungsoo replies, deliberately vague in his answer.

 _I’m a lost cause,_ he thinks, but maybe now he’s found his way home.

\--

The tire screeches as they speed away from the harbour, leaving tire tracks on the tarmac. Baekhyun uses Kyungsoo’s burner phone to leave a vague, anonymous tip on Jongdae’s phone, asking for backup to where they’re going next. During the silence that follows, Kyungsoo asks Baekhyun how he gets involved with Tao and Saint Jude.

“I was too good for the police academy,” Baekhyun says, hands tightly gripping the steering wheel. “At least that’s what Jongdae wanted me to believe. He personally picked me for the undercover job, and he wasn’t even a Commissioner back then.”

“How long?”

“Five years,” Baekhyun says. “We’ve known about Saint Jude for at least five years now, but he’s like this— God, or something. Everyone that works in the organization speaks reverently of him, like he’s some kind of omniscient, ethereal being. I was so sure that he doesn’t exist – but that shooting happened in my mom’s fucking store, and he finally shows his face.”

Kyungsoo hums absentmindedly, transfixed by the passing city lights as they leave Incheon, driving into the heart of Seoul.

It takes them another fifteen minutes before they finally arrive at their destination, another abandoned shop lot in Dangsan. Tao’s Hyundai is parked outside, and no one seems to be guarding the front door. Baekhyun switches off the car engine, leaving them to sit in the cold of darkness. “We’re gonna wait for backup. They’re going to be here any minute,” he tells Kyungsoo. “I hope Yixing’s doing okay.”

Kyungsoo hasn’t been in a stakeout since forever. He remembers the long nights in Iraq, strong-pointing a town in the middle of the desert with Humvees, expecting battles that never come. Listening to his radio man butcher Avril Lavigne songs to alleviate boredom, while his gunner munches on Skittles in the back seat. Static voices on the radio, giving commands that don’t make sense. The fireworks spectacle when air support drops tonnes of ordnance on a hamlet, containing nothing but innocent women and children.

He closes his eyes and questions his conscience. How could he have forgiven himself for being a part of that?

 _Only God forgives,_ he thinks. Even if Kyungsoo believes he doesn’t deserve it.

“Why did you leave the Marines?” Baekhyun inquires thoughtfully. “I mean, I know guys who still stay in the military even though their legs get blown off.”

“War isn’t for me. I wanted a peaceful life,” Kyungsoo says, too painfully aware that he is using past tense.

Baekhyun scoffs, but not heartlessly. “Is that why you’re so eager to be here?”

Kyungsoo tightens his fist. _That has nothing to do with this,_ he wants to say. _This is different._

But when Kyungsoo doesn’t reply, Baekhyun presses further. “I’m not that high up the hierarchy, but I’ve heard rumours about you, Father.”

“There are many rumours about me,” Kyungsoo mutters softly. “I came up with half of them myself.”

“I don’t think you came up with this one,” Baekhyun smartly retorts, with a hint of a smirk on his lips.

Kyungsoo raises a judicious eyebrow.

“There’s this man of God, clothed in his priestly robes,” Baekhyun begins to explain in a sing-song voice, as if Kyungsoo is a small child. “They say that he’s harmless, but there’s more to him than what meets the eye. They say that he’s fallen in love with a sinner,” Baekhyun inhales sharply. “A sinner who hides behind the name of a saint. A false Saint who acts like God,” he says. “A blasphemy.”

“Huh,” Kyungsoo cracks his neck. “How poetic.”

Baekhyun shoots him an incredulous look, before looking at his watch. “Shit, backup’s late,” he groans. “We got make this bust ourselves if we wanna catch them in the act.” He looks up at Kyungsoo. “Do you really want to be a part of this?”

“I’ve come this far,” Kyungsoo says. “I don’t do things halfway.”

\--

Between Tao who thought that Baekhyun was dead, Yixing who shouts “Police! You’re under arrest!” and Kyungsoo who comes out of nowhere and tackles Tao to the ground, it’s a riot. Backup doesn’t even appear until later, not before Chanyeol turns up in his Jaguar, glorious and graceful in his expensive suit and shiny brogues. The calm before the storm.

Kris is nowhere in sight. If Chanyeol is stunned to see Kyungsoo there, he doesn’t show it.

“You’ll never be able to charge me with anything,” says Balloon Party haughtily, as Yixing cuffs him and reads his rights. He doesn’t look anything like a balloon party – he talks and walks like a government official, with a black suit and striped tie, clipped to his steam-pressed white shirt. “Fancy seeing you here,” he tilts his head towards Kyungsoo. “After Joong Ki, after Nasiriyah. What, you with the cops now?”

Kyungsoo realizes that he knows this man from the past that he tries to forget. Blood curdles in his stomach, his throat parched. It feels like swallowing grit.

“What is he yapping about?” Yixing asks.

Chanyeol steps in, with his long elegant strides, before pausing next to Kyungsoo. He clenches and unclenches his jaw, before finally speaking. “You could make the arrest, but the charges won’t stick,” he explains to Yixing. “He would be held for an hour, two, tops. His bosses will come for him and it’ll all get swept under the carpet.”

“And give me a good reason why I can’t arrest you now?” Baekhyun asks in exasperation, aiming the nozzle of his gun at Chanyeol.

“The same reason I won’t kill you even when I know that you and Yixing are both _rats_ ,” Chanyeol says dispassionately, despite the gun in his face. “And Mr Balloon Party here,” he nudges, “—is Agent Kim Minseok of the NIS.”

 _Kim Minseok,_ Kyungsoo grits his teeth. So now he’s working for the National Intelligence Service. He was probably offered the job that Kyungsoo has previously declined. Minseok looks different with longer hair, in that suit that makes him look more refined than the sand-covered Marine Kyungsoo once served with. This is not how Kyungsoo has imagined their reunion to be like.

“Nice of you to introduce me to everyone,” Minseok spits acridly. “Why don’t you tell them that you’re a CIA informant, Jude?”

There is a stunned silence between Kyungsoo, Baekhyun and Yixing. “You’re working for the CIA?” Yixing asks, before tugging at Minseok to stop him from squirming with his handcuffs. “You’re working for the US government?” he stares at Chanyeol in disbelief. “Operating on Korean soil?”

“That information is not pertinent to the current situation,” Chanyeol maintains imperturbably. “You’re dealing with something that you don’t understand. This is bigger than you, or me, or us.” He turns his head slightly, as if trying to gauge Kyungsoo’s reaction.

Kyungsoo doesn’t give Chanyeol the pleasure of witnessing any.

“And you’re NIS?” Baekhyun directs his question at Minseok, completely astonished. “Yes,” Minseok replies aloofly. Kyungsoo bets that this is not what Baekhyun has expected when he decided to make this bust himself. “But why is the NIS and CIA involved in drug dealing?”

Chanyeol fully shifts his gaze towards Kyungsoo, now. He knows more than he lets on, and it annoys Kyungsoo to no end. “Our government is not winning the war on drugs, so now they’re using it to fund the war on terror,” Chanyeol explains. “What with the increasing nuclear threats from our neighbours in the north,” he says. “Washington and Seoul have to work together to keep the peace in these waters. I’m just one of the many messengers between two worlds,” Chanyeol says. He makes it sound so simple, an everyday routine, inconsequential— and Kyungsoo has been none the wiser.

Kyungsoo had been in the Marines, used heavy artillery, weapons that could bring down an entire civilization. To know that their military is sustained using drug money? It’s still a fact that leaves Kyungsoo feeling aghast, a bitter taste in his mouth.

But nothing hurts like finding out that Chanyeol has been playing on both sides of the law.

The NIS, the CIA and the mob?

_This has to be a joke._

_\--_

Baekhyun and Yixing insist that they will still make the arrest, and will deal with the consequences when they bring Minseok to the station. Chanyeol doesn’t even appear unsettled to let the million dollar cash that Minseok’s brought to rot somewhere in the evidence locker, in some police station not far away from here. If anything, he appears incongruently pleased.

Apart from Chanyeol, Kyungsoo realizes that Baekhyun and Yixing also have been living double lives. Their duality forces Kyungsoo reflect on the reality and perceived peacefulness of his life. The things he’s running from. The masks he’s been wearing.

 _‘How long have I been hiding from myself?’_ Kyungsoo asks himself. He’s been asking God the same question many times, but He stubbornly never gives Kyungsoo the answer he wants to hear. He’s knelt at the altar for hours, prayed with the rosary beads between his fingers, stared at the cross during many sleepless nights. The answer still never comes. It’s as if God has deigned to let him suffer silently, making him blind to his own wants and needs.

As Baekhyun and Yixing walk Minseok and Tao to their car, Chanyeol suddenly stops Kyungsoo with a hand on his arm. Kyungsoo doesn’t jolt.

“Do you know him?” Chanyeol asks gently, indicating towards Minseok. It’s the first time that he’s said anything directly to Kyungsoo since he shows up at the scene.

“We served together in Iraq. He was the platoon leader for Alpha Company,” Kyungsoo says, failing to meet Chanyeol’s eyes. He concentrates on Baekhyun and Yixing as they enter the car, driving off into the distance. There are only Kyungsoo and Chanyeol now, and a sea of stars above their heads.  He doesn’t even realize that Chanyeol has taken one step closer towards him.

“I thought I knew you, Chanyeol.”

“I’m sorry.”

Kyungsoo wants to ask so much – about the Li family, about Hong Kong, about Saint Jude, about the CIA. He couldn’t bring himself to say any of those words. Chanyeol has never lied to him – he simply omits the truth, and it breaks Kyungsoo’s heart constantly. He wants to hurt Chanyeol for the misery that he’s been through, he wants to scream and shout and lash out, but he doesn’t.

He looks up at the skies. 

_Please, God, forgive me. Forgive me for wanting him._

Kyungsoo could feel Chanyeol’s breath on his skin, the heat emanating from his presence. Chanyeol looks up at him through his eyelashes, taunting Kyungsoo with those devilish eyes, even if that wasn’t Chanyeol’s intention.

And then, Chanyeol says: “I never did give you the address for that key, did I?”

 

* * *

 

The elevator ride is frighteningly silent.

Kyungsoo risks a glance up at Chanyeol when he catches the taller man’s reflection on the brass doors. When the elevator doors slowly open, Kyungsoo lets Chanyeol lead the way. The long walk down the corridor, with the lush carpeting beneath Kyungsoo’s feet – it feels like eternity until they finally reach the apartment door.

The metal key is warm between Kyungsoo’s fingers. He feels the burn of Chanyeol’s stare on his skin, intently studying him while Kyungsoo goes through the mundane motions of opening a locked door. The key slots into the door lock perfectly, and Kyungsoo hears the satisfying click as he turns the lock. He steps into the darkness of the apartment, before Chanyeol follows right behind and switches on the lights. The door clicks shut, with Chanyeol standing between Kyungsoo and the front door, quietly gauging Kyungsoo’s reaction.

The apartment that Chanyeol has bought for him is a fully furnished loft; a safe house in an area of Myeongdong that Kyungsoo’s never really explored before. It’s spacious – almost half the size of his parish, austere and unlived. As Chanyeol puts it, the apartment is meant to be Kyungsoo’s belated birthday gift – but it is also another token of Chanyeol’s apology, after Kyungsoo’s old apartment was ruined by the Five Suns.

Chanyeol doesn’t have to go so far – _I would have forgiven you anyway,_ Kyungsoo thinks.

He chuckles wryly when he stands over the glass windows and takes in the view, recognizing the roof of his parish straight away. To the west, he is able to see the park; the exact spot where he plays chess with Mr Cho.

“You have been keeping an eye on me. Even during my free time,” Kyungsoo accuses, breaking the silence between them.

“I don’t trust the Five Suns to leave you alone,” Chanyeol says, taking one step forward. He could have reached Kyungsoo within a heartbeat, but he seems restrained, nervous; unsure.

“They haven’t,” Kyungsoo agrees in a gentle register. “I had to throw them off my scent while I was tailing Baekhyun. There were at least three of them following me before I managed to lose them.”

Chanyeol raises an eyebrow, looking impressed. “You still managed to lose them, though. But I need to talk to Kwangsoo again. This wasn’t part of the deal. I specifically told the Five Suns not to harm you.”

“Chanyeol, I can look after myself.”

“You know, I wasn’t joking when I asked if you wanted to be my bodyguard,” Chanyeol says. “You miss this. You miss not being in the field. You miss not having someone to protect.”

 _I miss you,_ Kyungsoo wants to say. But he doesn’t. “You have Kris,” he says instead.

“He’s not my bodyguard. I don’t pay him enough for that,” Chanyeol replies. “He’s my second-in-command and he does what he wants—,” Chanyeol explains, “—but most of all, he’s his own man.”

“And I’m your rent-boy,” Kyungsoo mutters under his breath. Chanyeol hears him anyway.

“You said that,” he says, the corners of his lips upturned into a lazy smirk. “I didn’t.”

Kyungsoo moves towards the middle of the loft, the centrepiece of the apartment – a king-sized bed dressed in Egyptian cotton and more pillows than he has ever owned. He runs his fingers along the sheets, before perching cautiously on the edge of the king-sized bed. He sinks into the mattress with a sigh. If he gets any more comfortable than this, the bed may just swallow him whole and he would never wake up.

“You were offered an NIS job but you didn’t take it,” Chanyeol says, moving closer towards him now. “Why? You would’ve made an excellent agent.”

“How did you know about the NIS job?”

“I didn’t,” Chanyeol shakes his head. “Not until today. Not until Minseok showed up. And Kris’s a damned good hacker, we would’ve known. Meanwhile, Minseok gets your job—,” he scrunches his nose, “—and you’re living in this humdrum shit of a life.”

“It’s not,” Kyungsoo retorts petulantly, although he isn’t sure of his own argument anymore. “I survived for a purpose. To serve God.”

“Sure,” Chanyeol rolls his eyes. “After all the shit you’ve seen.”

“You weren’t there,” Kyungsoo argues vehemently.

“No, I wasn’t,” Chanyeol concurs a bit too easily. “I was busy with my own little war games on my turf.”

“You’re going to die, Chanyeol.”

“We’re _all_ going to die,” Chanyeol counters effortlessly.

“You know what I mean,” Kyungsoo rubs his eyes tiredly, pinching the ridge of his nose. “Don’t be coy.”

“If you were by my side,” Chanyeol raises one eyebrow slyly, “—maybe I won’t die so quickly. What was it that Morrissey said?” he asks. “To die by your side is a heavenly way to die?”

Kyungsoo could almost hear Morrissey’s voice singing faintly in the background, as soon as Chanyeol monotonously reads out the line. “Fuck you,” he replies insouciantly. 

“That’s the Kyungsoo that I know,” Chanyeol says, a genuine smile touching his lips, before it fades away into a grim line. “You know you’re going to get a call, right? It will be someone from the NIS, asking if you want to work for them again. My handler will harangue me about you,” Chanyeol says, standing over him like some kind of angel, blocking out the main light from the tall lamp from the corner of the room, a halo surrounding him. “What will you say if the CIA were to contact you?”

“I’ll tell them what I’ve told them each time,” Kyungsoo says. “Junmyeon asked me to be an informant for the cops too.”

“I know.”

Why isn’t Kyungsoo surprised? Is there anything that Chanyeol doesn’t know? “Did you know I was going to say no?”

“I thought you were going to say yes,” Chanyeol replies sheepishly. Kyungsoo attempts to suppress a smile. Chanyeol doesn’t know _everything,_ then.

“I didn’t think anyone would still be interested in me,” Kyungsoo complains. He’d meant it as the cops, the NIS, his likely government-related, military-based, intelligence-agency employers. “I’m too old for this shit, with one working leg, and can’t they see that I’m a fucking priest?”

“Hell, Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol chuckles wryly. “Who wouldn’t be interested in you? Have you seen how people look at you?”

 _I’m not blind,_ Kyungsoo wants to say, but he bites his tongue to stop himself. “How do _you_ look at me?” he asks, instead. Because it’s the only question that matters.

A pause. Chanyeol is struggling to find the right words to say. Kyungsoo could hear him thinking from miles away, his expression pensive.

“Let’s just say that I don’t care for genders, but I do care for the person,” Chanyeol replies. “And I care about you. Whether with dog-tags or dog-collars,” he says. Kyungsoo’s fingers automatically jerks up to his dog-collar, touching the plastic stripe on his neck.

Chanyeol takes it as a sign for him to take a seat beside Kyungsoo, tentative, shifting his weight on the mattress. “Who’s Joong Ki?” he asks softly. Kyungsoo knows this question would come eventually. He’s surprised that Chanyeol has taken this long to ask. “Sergeant Song was my Team Leader,” Kyungsoo replies. “A damned good one, too.”

“Where is he now?”

“He died when that Humvee blew up.”

“You loved him,” Chanyeol says, not unkindly.

Kyungsoo doesn’t know if he loves Joong Ki in that way or not. Nothing’s ever been said, nothing’s ever been done. Kyungsoo wonders what could have been if they’d both survived the IED blast. Would he still be a coward?

It doesn’t occur to him until now that he sees plenty of Chanyeol in Joong Ki – they look nothing alike, but they share the same qualities. Perseverance, wit, calmness— and a lot of heart as a foil to Kyungsoo’s brains. Maybe it’s what draws him to Joong Ki the most, among all the other Marines that he’d befriended and commanded – his anchor in the seas of sand dunes and berms, between showers of mortar fire and unexploding bombs in the gardens. Because Joong Ki reminded Kyungsoo so much of Chanyeol.

“Nothing happened between us, Chanyeol.”

“But you wished something did.”

“Doesn’t alter the fact that we’re the ones that are here now.”

Between Pendleton and Mathilda, Oceanside and Al-Muwaffiqiyah, a priest and a saint, Kyungsoo and Chanyeol. They’re worlds apart.

_And yet, we’re both sinners._

“How about that guy at the restaurant?” Kyungsoo asks. “The one you were with before I came through the door?”

“Are you jealous, Father?”

“Colour me curious.”

“He’s my lover, and he’s amazing in bed,” Chanyeol pretends to swoon dramatically, before reaching over to clasp Kyungsoo’s hands. “I’m just kidding, Kyungsoo. That was my CIA handler. He would love to meet you again,” he jokes.

Chanyeol’s fingers are warm, his skin smooth and riddled with goosebumps. Kyungsoo could feel Chanyeol’s heartbeat fluttering underneath his fingertips. “Should I be penitent, Father?” he asks. “Have I ticked all seven of your deadly sins? Am I damned for eternity?”

 _No,_ Kyungsoo wants to say. _It’s me who’s eternally damned, and I’m not afraid anymore._

 

* * *

 

Chanyeol is a beautiful disaster.  Kyungsoo has heard the phrase many times, but has never truly appreciated it until a real life specimen walks right into his face. Joong Ki was beautiful in his own way – but he was not a disaster. Not like Chanyeol. 

He is lanky, angular, _intense._ His eyes could be black-blue-hazel-gold-green and Kyungsoo could never say which one at any given time – it’s a river stream, the colour of the ocean, the night skies, the galaxies; a kaleidoscope. At this moment they’re dark brown with golden speckles, clashing against the darkness of his eyelashes. He has changed so much, but his eyes, the tension in his sharp jaw – they’re still quintessentially Chanyeol, his growls and the tilt of his head, the considerate purse of his lips.

He half expects dark wings to unfurl from between Chanyeol’s shoulder blades, and Kyungsoo nearly reaches for his rosary beads to repent, for he has fallen in love with the human incarnation of the Devil himself.

Kyungsoo has never felt actual affection or love for somebody until his heart aches this way. Not until Chanyeol – not since Chanyeol. He’s had friends, colleagues, acquaintances, but there was no actual devotion or emotional attachment as strong as what he’s developed with Chanyeol. Is this why God has sent Chanyeol back to him? To torment him, to make him question all the beliefs he has held for most of his life?

It’s not romantic – it’s not just lust. Kyungsoo doesn’t know romance, wouldn’t even recognize it if someone dangles it in front of his nose like a juicy bone in front of a ravenous dog. But he at least knows that this is true love in its purest form, then— and trust, and friendship – even in death.

He wonders if this is what he’s been missing all this time—what he’s been looking for when he went travelling all the way to get shipped in the middle of the desert, to get shot at, to nearly die. What he’s found, in this man sitting merely inches from Kyungsoo.

“Tell me what to do, Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo whispers breathlessly.  

Chanyeol’s reply is like the thunderous skies, coursing through his veins like a sacred commandment.

“I’m not God.”

He’s wrong. Kyungsoo easily could worship Chanyeol as much as he worships God.

“Just this once,” Kyungsoo pleads.  

Chanyeol is looking at him as though he wants to devour Kyungsoo. He doesn’t realize how long Chanyeol’s eyelashes are until now, when he’s this close. He doesn’t voice his wants, but his eyes fall to the stripe on Kyungsoo’s throat.

Kyungsoo tugs at the dog collar, almost brandished to his skin – and he could hear Chanyeol’s soft gasp when he finally pulls it out. Kyungsoo places the plastic collar in Chanyeol’s hands. He thinks it could have melted away, but it doesn’t. “What next, Chanyeol?”

“It’s your call, Kyungsoo.” 

“What next, Chanyeol?” Kyungsoo repeats, insistent.

Chanyeol abruptly stands up to leave, but Kyungsoo catches Chanyeol’s arm to stop him.  “Don’t,” Chanyeol says. He’s back to being his nine-year-old self again, when he was being chased by Sister Mary, getting beaten up by cruel kids who don’t understand how it’s like to be different. All of Chanyeol’s suave confidence from before— they’ve fractured completely, and it is Kyungsoo who has to pick up the pieces.

“Look at me, Chanyeol. What do you want from me?”

“Nothing.”

_Liar._

“What do you want from me, Chanyeol? You don’t get to pull this shit with me, you understand?” Kyungsoo takes a step back, but halts when Chanyeol begins to speak again.

It’s just one word:

_“Everything.”_

“Thank you,” Kyungsoo says, barely a whisper. “Thank you for being honest with me, for once.”

Chanyeol looks down at the floor, past Kyungsoo’s shoulder, the buttons of Kyungsoo’s shirt—anywhere but Kyungsoo’s face. It’s a confession that has been bubbling under the lid for so long it is threatening to spill, to flood Kyungsoo with the suddenness and the desperation.

“I want you. So fucking much,” he tells Kyungsoo. “But I know I could never have you. You’re so close. And yet so far.” His voice is a broken whisper, but the echo resonates loudly in Kyungsoo’s brain, amplified by each beat of his racing heart. “Stay with me,” Chanyeol pleads. He looks lost. “Don’t leave. Don’t ever leave me again.”

“I’m here now,” Kyungsoo says. He reaches up to touch Chanyeol’s face. He’s held Chanyeol’s face against his palms so many times, when they were younger – but this time it’s a revelation.

“I miss you,” Chanyeol whispers, before reaching up to wipe a tear that Kyungsoo doesn’t even realize has trickled down his cheek, and tiptoes to press his forehead against Kyungsoo’s.

“I miss you too,” Kyungsoo replies, and he cherishes the feeling of warm breath against his skin, and fuck, Chanyeol’s crying too. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted – no, needed someone as much I as need you,” he tells Kyungsoo.

_I love him, God. Forgive me for loving him. Please forgive me, Lord._

“I’m here now. Take what you want,” Kyungsoo offers. His heart, his body, his soul. “I’m here now.”

It feels like it’s been too long overdue, so when Chanyeol finally presses his lips against Kyungsoo’s, he lets out a gasp – of need, of want, of desire. Chanyeol kisses him like he’s running out of time, but also as if he’s trying to make up for all the time he’s lost. It is desperate, frantic, searching. He tastes like coffee and cigarettes and peppermint, and Kyungsoo realizes that this is the same Chanyeol he has come to know and love, through and through. He tilts his head and changes the angle, deepening the kiss as Kyungsoo cards his fingers in Chanyeol’s hair.

“Sorry,” Chanyeol sighs breathlessly against Kyungsoo’s lips, after he breaks the kiss. “Feels like I’ve waited decades just to do that,” he says, before Kyungsoo kisses him again. Chanyeol kneels in front of Kyungsoo and clutches his hands, kisses each knuckle gingerly as if they are made of porcelain, as if they are going to break if he handles them any rougher.

“I love you,” Chanyeol says. “I love you.”

And Kyungsoo couldn’t help letting out the quake of sobs that has been building inside of him, because he has struggled with his own feelings for so long, but has no courage to say it out loud. There’s no reason why he should be fearful now, when he has Chanyeol in front of him, the one who has opened up to him— St Jude or  Park Chanyeol – Kyungsoo loves him despite the different facades, because he knows that Chanyeol will only reveal his true self when he’s with him. And Kyungsoo will love him in any shape of form, he loves Chanyeol.

“I love you too,” Kyungsoo tells him, and Chanyeol shushes Kyungsoo by swallowing each sob with a thousand kisses.

 

* * *

 

In the morning sunlight, Chanyeol seems peaceful. It occurred to Kyungsoo that he has never seen Chanyeol like this. He has never witnessed the rise and fall of Chanyeol’s chest as he breathes; the flutter of Chanyeol’s eyelashes against his cheeks as he sleeps; the crimson flush of his skin.

“You’re still here,” Chanyeol mumbles.

“I am,” Kyungsoo nods.

“I thought it was a dream.”

Kyungsoo lifts Chanyeol’s face with his thumb and forefinger, gently, delicately, and kisses him. Chanyeol responds by tracing the scars on Kyungsoo’s back, curling to the front, across his abdomen, the juncture between his thighs. He runs his fingertips down Kyungsoo’s left thigh, his knee, stopping just above his stump. Kyungsoo takes a sharp breath.

“You’re beautiful, Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol tells him. “I don’t care about your scars,” he says, before proceeding to kiss each one, working his way down the lengthy scar that goes down Kyungsoo’s left leg. He presses butterfly kisses on both of Kyungsoo’s knees, and a gentle one atop his scarred stump. “The Heaven resides in every line of your body,” he whispers, “—and I would readily worship you as you worship your God.”

 _I don’t want to be worshipped,_ Kyungsoo thinks. _I want to be loved._

Chanyeol loves him by whispering prayers into Kyungsoo’s skin, and when words aren’t enough, he uses his hands – and even when his touch isn’t enough, Chanyeol uses his lips. Kyungsoo isn’t ashamed of how much he wants to devour Chanyeol, or be devoured.  

Kyungsoo lives and dies, and lives again.

 

* * *

 

“Is this your way of saying fuck you to God, Chanyeol?” Kyungsoo asks, as he sits by the giant windows of his apartment, smiling to himself. Chanyeol steps out of bed to stand behind him, both looking ahead outside the window, admiring the view across the skyline. They could barely make out the cross on the rooftop of Kyungsoo’s parish from this distance, but Kyungsoo knows that it’s there.

Chanyeol rests his head upon Kyungsoo’s bare shoulder. He could feel Chanyeol smiling against his skin, before pressing a kiss above Kyungsoo’s faded _Semper Fidelis_ tattoo.

“You could say that,” Chanyeol says, tangling his fingers in the metal chain of Kyungsoo’s dog-tags. “I won this round against Him,” he says. “I have you.”

 

* * *

 

It feels strange without the collar around his neck, not when he’s in the parish, sitting in front of Luhan in his office. He is throwing judgmental looks at the leather biker jacket, grey waistcoat and black tie – an immaculately tailored suit that clings to Kyungsoo obscenely. “Looks like he’s not only stolen you from my church,” Luhan says. “He’s dressed you up too, like a doll.”

“We’re talking about a man who has committed patricide, and the thing you care about is my sartorial decisions,” Kyungsoo retorts.

“You’ve lost your way, Kyungsoo.”

Kyungsoo shakes his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever found the right way anyway, Luhan,” he says.

“How about Young Mee? And Yura? What would they say?” Luhan cries out in horror.

“They had their objections,” Kyungsoo explains. “But Chanyeol was there, and they understood.”

“Pride and lust and greed won’t get you anywhere, Kyungsoo.”

“No,” Kyungsoo agrees. “You’re right. But love is love, and that is not a sin,” Kyungsoo counters, before making his way to leave. Before he steps out, he takes one last look at the giant crucifix on the wall, with the wax statue staring dumbly back at him.

 _You could have stopped me_ , Kyungsoo thinks, and realizes that he feels no remorse for doing this at all.

He feels liberated.

_Free._

 

* * *

 

Chanyeol is waiting outside the parish, leaning idly against the door of his Jaguar, unflustered and immaculate. “How did it go?”

“As good as it could be, I suppose.”

“Just got a phone call from Kris,” Chanyeol informs Kyungsoo, before opening the passenger seat door for him. “They’ve let Minseok go. The good news is—,” he says before entering the car, “Baekhyun and Yixing have been reinstated into the police forces. They don’t have to live two lives anymore.”

Kyungsoo puts on his seat belt, making sure that it doesn’t catch on the gun in his holster. “Is there another flip side to this good news?”

“It means that Jongdae and Junmyeon will send more rats into my organization to bring me down,” Chanyeol surmises, before looking at Kyungsoo oddly. “Why did you decide to join me, Kyungsoo?”

Kyungsoo’s answer is simple. “I can look after myself, but someone’s gotta keep an eye on you.”

Chanyeol bursts into laughter. “I didn’t expect this at all,” he says. “I came back to Seoul for many things, but I didn’t expect this at all.”

“What, you mean becoming your bodyguard? Or that I’ve given up God for you?”

“No,” Chanyeol shakes his head, with that sweet, _sweet_ smile still on his face. “I didn’t expect that your God would even be so kind as to let me have you,” he says. “I didn’t expect you, Kyungsoo. And I love you.”

Chanyeol hasn’t started the engine, and Kyungsoo is glad. He leans across the gearstick and grabs the lapel of Chanyeol’s coat, pulling until Chanyeol is almost fully on top of him. Chanyeol cradles Kyungsoo’s face with his leather-gloved hands, before moving across the stick and straddles Kyungsoo in his seat, hovering over Kyungsoo on his knees. He leans down and nuzzles their foreheads together, noses bumping against each other, but they’re not quite kissing. For a brief moment their lips finally meet, and when Chanyeol breathes into Kyungsoo, it feels like a lease of new life.

He won’t run away, or keeps hiding from himself any longer.

Not when he has Chanyeol.

And that, _God,_ is enough.

\--

.end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed, so all mistakes are mine. There may be more to come in this universe, but no promises.


End file.
